


Aloft

by draziichan



Category: Karneval
Genre: Angst and Humor, Break Up, Comedy, Drama & Romance, F/M, Friendship, Legal Drama, M/M, Reconciliation, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-03 07:51:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 63,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draziichan/pseuds/draziichan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm the dishonest one, Akari? You betrayed yourself. You do want me… and it kills you, doesn't it? To desire everything you hate." Muti-chapter legal!AU. Yes, seriously. Hirato/Akari and some Yogi/Gareki. I'll also try to weave in as much of the Karneval cast as possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This story will require serious suspension of disbelief. I've taken great liberties with the legal system, hospital policies, and yes, the human body. Consider yourself duly notified.

In retrospect, he'd wonder if it was coincidence or kismet that threw them together that night.

* * *

Hirato was the toast of Chicago. Well, he was the toast of a very narrow swath of the Windy City's population, but even trial lawyers needed their demigods. Indeed, if deification had been retained as a religious practice, the surprisingly young legal prodigy was a prime candidate. With his Yale connections and University of Chicago law degree, he was bound to be a success. Couple such an immaculate pedigree with strikingly good looks and infectious charisma, and it was no wonder that he'd made partner at the tender age of twenty-nine.

Fast cars, faster lovers, and an unimpeded trajectory straight to the top. He'd earned it, deserved it even. He was just that good.

Actually, there was someone who was better. Someone who'd always been better, in fact. But the blond-haired, fae-eyed Assistant DA preferred to put criminals _in_ prison rather than defend them. Shame, really. Criminals paid better than the city. Akari had always been like that—self-sacrificing, idealistic, trusting of the system and its so-called justice.

 _Stupid_ , Hirato thought as he trained his gaze on the other man from across the room. _He's always been stupid._ The blond in question was seated at the bar, head bowed over a glass of scotch, his briefcase still in tow. He was staring blankly through the floor-to-ceiling windows, completely unmoved by the skyline beyond. Hirato wondered idly why Akari would bother to come to a high-rise bar in the Loop if not for the view. Personally, he preferred to conduct all his business from aloft—advising clients, meeting senior partners, consulting with other firms, and yes, fucking whatever lucky man or woman had caught his fancy. In a sparkling city bejeweled with awe-inspiring testaments to human ingenuity, it made no sense to walk amongst the mere mortals fourty floors below.

Akari had _never_ made much sense to him, now that he thought about it. They'd been law school classmates, and even at one of the most competitive, cutthroat programs in the country, the idiotic strawberry blond would spend his free time tutoring the lowest common denominator of the L1s. He still graduated at the top of the class, of course, but that was resultant of natural aptitude rather than any ambition or concern for life's zero sum game. It was like Akari lived in his own private utopia, free from the vagaries of the world.

 _He doesn't look like he's inured to harsh reality now, does he?_ Hirato smirked. He quite liked seeing the other man brought low. It was sweeter knowing that Akari's defeat had come at _his_ hands. The three month trial that ended this morning was destined to be a crowning moment for one or the other. The mayor's deputy, Azana, had been charged with a series of grisly high-profile murders. Thanks to Chicago's most able criminal defense attorney, he was acquitted. Hirato had been warned that it was an impossible win, but he took immense pleasure in making the impossible look easy. It helped that Akari's case had been severely damaged by the police department's mishandling of evidence. Still, that wasn't the brunet's fault; a skilled orator would have found a way to turn liability into asset. _Okay, maybe not_ that _liability,_ he conceded. _Still, I won. That's all that matters_ _._

He'd just decided to stroll over and tease when he felt a sharp slap on his shoulder.

"Congratulations, you magnificent bastard!" His associate Tsukitachi was in particularly high spirits (no doubt after having imbibed many spirits of a different sort).

"What a pointless thing to say," he responded curtly.

Tsukitachi only sighed in resignation, as though his friend's antisocialism was a lost cause. His honey-gold eyes scanned the room for any of their acquaintances. "Is that Akari Dezart at the bar? Jesus, that poor fuck. He looks miserable." The redhead was a man of too many words and annoyingly undue familiarity, but Hirato liked him anyway. At least he was never boring, unlike most of their coworkers. "Maybe you should buy him a drink. It's your fault he's having such a shit day."

"I don't associate with losers," he replied, surprised that the words were imbued with obvious bitterness. He wasn't given to betraying himself so easily. He'd painstakingly cultivated a reputation for being an emotionless jerk. "And I don't owe him anything. I'm not at fault for his ineptitude."

"You really are a bastard, aren't you?" the other man asked with a wink.

"Only to those in my way." He glanced again at Akari, who appeared to be on his third round. Tearing his eyes away, he attended his friend. "Anyway, where's the party?"

Tsukitachi checked his watch and frowned slightly. "Late, apparently. How like lawyers to be so inconsiderate."

Said party arrived twenty minutes later, all the firm's partners and rising stars in attendance. Exorbitantly-priced champagne flowed freely, as did a number of raunchy stories and company gossip. Hirato nursed his drink and conversed politely while receiving due praise from everyone (and rather inappropriate praise from some of their number). He didn't dislike these sorts of gatherings, precisely. He simply thought of them as coming with the territory. Similar to his work they weren't unbearably torturous, but he'd never voluntarily pass his time thusly.

He'd lost track of the hour when the bar announced last call. _Hmmm, maybe I don't mind these little celebrations after all._ Or maybe he enjoyed the way his goddess of a colleague leaned against him to whisper her salacious intentions. Eva. Gorgeous, brilliant Eva. Eva, the object of covetousness for all warm-blooded members of the firm, both men and women. He could have her tonight, he knew. She'd had enough drink to be uninhibited but not too much to be rendered incapable of consent. (He was a lawyer; he thought about these things.)

"What do you say? It's a one-time offer." Aquamarine eyes leveled playfully on him. He returned her smile indulgently. It _was_ a one-time offer, that was certain. Eva wasn't interested in him as potential mate. She was far too smart for romantic entanglements in the workplace, or romantic entanglements period. She'd propositioned him because she sensed a kindred spirit—a heartless individual whose only use for a lover was the physical sort. He wouldn't trail behind her afterwards like some abandoned puppy. He'd be completely, wonderfully unattached. They'd resume their cordial, professional relationship tomorrow without interruption.

Damn, it was tempting. Sex without strings. Just like he preferred it. Furthermore, he had no doubt of the lady's prowess in that arena. He'd seen her beguile an entire courtroom with a languid cross of impossibly long legs. The night just kept getting better. If he believed in Providence, he'd have thanked whatever entity moved the universe. "What exactly are you offering?" he whispered, allowing his lips to brush along her ear. She shivered at the contact and settled a hand on his thigh under the table.

That's when he caught sight of Akari, still posted at the bar, still drowning his sorrows. _He won't make it home at this rate_. Later, he'd wonder why he did it. Why he'd made a dozen uncharacteristically sincere apologies to Eva before sending her home in a taxi. Why he'd then taken the fourty story elevator ride back up. Why he'd waited for Tsukitachi to polish off his last drink before making a move. And finally, why he'd planted himself on the stool beside Akari when the room had emptied.

"What the hell do you want?" the blond growled. "To gloat? Fine. Gloat away."

Hirato laughed softly. "That's your problem. You don't look out for number one. I'd never give someone the satisfaction of seeing me upset over a loss."

"Pardon me, but I'd rather not take life lessons from a bottom-feeding troglodyte." He swallowed the rest of his drink in one go, dropped several twenties on the bar, and attempted to stand. That he was unsuccessful at standing was unsurprising. Akari swayed, gripping the edge of the bar to steady himself.

"Is this your seventh or eighth drink?"

"Honestly, I can't remember," he answered with a shrug. "I'm going home, so it's of little consequence."

Another soft chuckle. "Well, I suppose I'll have to tap my paltry reserves of humanitarianism," he stood and slipped an arm around the other man's waist. "Come on, I'll give you a ride."

Akari struggled to pull away. "Get off me before I press charges," he huffed, tiring himself with the effort of breaking free. "I'll call a cab."

"In your state, you'd be lucky to make it anywhere without getting taken by your cabbie."

"Why do you care?"

Ah, that was the question, wasn't it? Why he bothered with a man who had been the bane of his existence. Deciding he'd worry about that later, he marched Akari out of the bar, one arm banded about him while the other held fast to the Assistant DA's briefcase. Unbelievably, they made it to the parking deck without further incident or venomous exchanges. Having settled Akari in the passenger seat of his Benz, he slipped behind the wheel and considered the absurdity of the situation. If his partners found out that he'd been riding around town with Akari Dezart of all people, there'd be hell to pay.

"The things I do for good karma," he mumbled under his breath before reversing out of the parking space. "Where are we headed?"

"Fifty-third and Kenwood. And you're going to have to do much more than pick up the occasional stray to offset your karmic debt." That was the thing about Akari. No matter how spent, irate, or inebriated he'd get, he'd never dull. It was positively infuriating.

"You could try to sound appreciative."

"I told you to leave me alone. You're the one who so desperately wanted to take me home."

"You make it sound as if I'm trying to seduce you."

Akari's glassy irises took on a keener edge as he regarded Hirato thoughtfully. "Are you?"

He choked out a sarcastic bark, keeping his own eyes riveted to the road. "Did you _see_ the option I had tonight? Trade her for you? Not a chance."

"Good. Because I don't waste my time with narcissistic jackasses." The blond seemed mesmerized by the stream of closed shops flitting by. It was fortunate that his distractedness made him oblivious to the minute tightening of his companion's lips.

"…anymore." _Fuck._ Why did he say that? He hadn't meant to say that. He was never so loose-lipped; it was a career-ending disadvantage. Yet something about the man at his side managed to burrow under his skin like nothing else could. Akari made him fallible, entirely too human. He made him feel _guilty_ , and remorse was not an emotion Hirato had intention of experiencing for any length of time.

"You used to be different."

It was the way the DA articulated the words—like he was truly, genuinely sorry the brunet had risen to heights that most lawyers could only dream of. The very insinuation caused his fingers twitch in anger. _How dare you judge me, you self-righteous sonofabitch?_ Nevertheless, his voice retained its pleasantness while he searched for a way to cut as expertly as he'd just been. "I used to be naïve."

"You mean you used to be like me." A light brow quirked inquisitively.

"Yes. I used to be like you... at least until I realized that justice isn't as blind as we'd been taught, and that right and wrong are societal constructs invented for the comfort of children. So I grew up."

Akari cleared his throat awkwardly. Hirato's mouth curved. _I win again._ The rest of the drive was spent in quietude. It was delightful at first, knowing he'd silenced the famously acerbic DA. Then uncomfortable tension arose between them. He tossed periodic glances at his passenger, but Akari demonstrated no signs of being affected by their proximity. He simply stared ahead in contemplation, chin cupped in his palm, a few fingers curled against his lips as though he was restraining himself from speaking. They remained like that for half an hour. Finally, Hirato pulled alongside the blond's apartment building. Akari muttered his thanks and opened the door, only to be stopped short by the feel of long fingers curling around his wrist.

"You know you'd have won today if it weren't for Chicago PD's royal screw-up, right? It was yours to take." If anyone questioned why he felt compelled to reveal that tidbit of information, he'd have been hard pressed to answer. What was truly staggering, though, was what followed: "You _should_ have won."

Akari had been accomodatingly placid until then, but on the heels of that assertion he jerked himself loose. "This is why I want nothing to do with you. You think this is about winning or losing, that it's about _you_. In the meantime, another murderer is walking the streets." He pinched the bridge of his nose in a strange combination of exhaustion and disappointment. Hirato remembered that expression well; he'd been on its receiving end so frequently.

"An alleged murderer," he corrected. "Now an exonerated one."

"Sure, keep telling yourself that," Akari said defeatedly. "I'm glad you can sleep at night." With that, he spun round and ambled unsteadily up the steps without a backwards glance. The swift dismissal caused Hirato's heart to twist in an unfamiliar manner, unearthing memories and sentiments that he'd choked off years ago. Instead of interrogating these resurgent sensations, however, he concluded that he was unusually tired and needed rest. The drive back to his Near North Side condo was occupied by thoughts of downy comfort and luxurious bedding.

Even so, he didn't sleep that night.


	2. Chapter 2

"What the hell happened to you last night?" Tsukitachi asked, poking his annoyingly chipper face into Hirato's office. "You look like shit."

"Thanks."

"Don't tell me Eva roughed you up," the redhead continued, completely disregarding any conventions of decorum or discretion.

Hirato could only sigh. He'd rather not have this conversation right now…or ever, but trying to get his friend to abandon office gossip was tantamount to turning water into wine. "Nothing happened, actually."

"Waaaaaaaaaait," Tsukitachi slinked forward and closed the door. "You're telling me you turned her down? What in Christ's name is wrong with you?" He slammed his palms on the desk and loomed threateningly over the seated man. Clearly, declining Eva's invitation was a deeply personal matter.

"I didn't turn her down." Hirato rubbed his temples in frustration. "Something came up." _A gorgeous blond with hypnotic eyes and an exceedingly shitty attitude._ In hopes of tabling the discussion, he offered his associate a conciliatory shrug. "Believe me; she's not disappointed in the least."

"Of course _she_ isn't. Shouldn't you be?"

"Oh, I am," he lied smoothly. "It's a missed opportunity. Nothing to be done, unfortunately." His tone carried a finality that brooked no resistance, not even from his closest friend.

"You prize idiot." Having been deprived of his daily quota of scandal, the scarlet-haired man spun around and made for the exit. Halfway there, he paused mid-step and glanced over his shoulder, golden stare narrowed in appraisal. "Hey, Hirato?"

"Hmm?" the brunet's attention had already been diverted to his computer screen.

"Akari Dezart," Tsukitachi spoke in a plastic, matter-of-fact way insinuating much more than idle curiosity. "You two went to law school together, right?"

It took every ounce of equanimity he possessed to mold his features into a mask of perfect nonchalance. "Yes. What of it?"

"Just wondering. He threw some pretty nasty looks at you last night. It's unusual for classmates to be so antagonistic, even when they're on opposite sides of the courtroom." It was remarkable how most of their coworkers didn't realize exactly how observant Tsukitachi was. Hirato wondered idly just how much of his connection to the Assistant DA his colleague had intuited. _This could get messy if he keeps digging._

He forced a laugh, hoping it sounded sufficiently unperturbed. "Akari never liked me." _It was so much more than 'like,' after all._

"Can't say I blame him. Who does?"

The telephone trilled just then, a very familiar number lighting up the screen. Life's serendipitous conveniences were truly a thing of beauty; thanks to his brother, he could extricate himself from Tsukitachi without incurring further suspicion. "I have to get this," he said hurriedly, waving the other man off. "I'll see you at lunch."

"Who the _fuck_ do you think you are, Hirato?" Gareki's livid grumble came through the handset before he had opportunity to offer greeting. The anger in the other's voice pushed all thoughts of disagreeable blonds firmly out of mind. He mentally enumerated all the things he'd recently done to incur his sibling's wrath, but nothing notable emerged from the nebulous mass of petty provocations and unwarranted teasing.

"Do you mean that ontologically or epistemologically?" he chirped, relishing the sound of labored breathing on the other end. His baby brother was ever so fun to vex. Every chance to do so was a boon from the gods.

"Fuck you."

"Goodness. I'm not opposed to expletives on principle, but you really ought to vary your vocabulary."

"Shut the fuck up."

"See my point? So unimaginative," he tittered, lilting cadence imbued with mirth. "What are you on about this time?"

"I got my acceptance letter to Yale Law this morning." Gareki delivered the news with the gravity of a death sentence.

"Congratulations! Tokitatsu will be so proud when I tell him." This latest turn of events was without a doubt the brightest spot in his week, and it had been a stellar week. Gareki possessed a razor sharp intellect and perceptive faculties to match. Being professionalized amongst those of his caliber would set him up for the type of success that characterized the family. As a result, Hirato felt not one whit of remorse for ensuring his acceptance via a number of gifts, both monetary and those of a more questionable nature.

Gareki, however, was unimpressed (either with himself or Hirato, or both). "What did you do to get me in?"

He'd covered all his tracks, he was sure. There was no tangible evidence of his manipulations, meaning the accusation was likely based on guesswork alone. Concluding thus, Hirato relaxed in his chair, crossing lithe legs atop the desk while watching grey skies darken through the bay windows."Why would you ask such a thing? You got in on your own merit."

"Stop lying," his conversant barked. "I never applied to Yale Law. I said I did to get you off my back."

 _Shit._ The attorney pinched the bridge of his nose. _Might as well try for honestly,_ he conceded wearily. "Tokitatsu and I want the best for you. We're responsible for your happiness." Gareki's welfare was the only issue about which Hirato was unabashedly earnest. Ever since their parents died, the two elders felt increasingly accountable for their charge. Securing the boy's future was part of his duty, he figured. Like any other obligation, he aimed to fulfill it expertly and efficiently.

"If either of you gave a shit about my happiness, you'd stop meddling. I don't want Yale Law, or Harvard either, so tell Tokitatsu to screw himself. I don't want a stupidly expensive car, or a corner office, or a different lover every night, or whatever it is that gets you two off. Maybe you think that's the pinnacle of existence, but you look pretty fucking pathetic to me."

"You're being—"

"Look, I've had enough. Leave me alone." A sharp click reinforced the point. Having replaced the receiver, he caught sight of a jittery, insecure blond making a wreck of the front office. Members of the secretarial staff gaped as the young man bumped into a number of paralegals' cubicles, sending sheaves of paper spilling to the floor. It looked like a miniature hurricane was moving across the room, causing isolated incidents of havoc to erupt at intermittent intervals. Through his glass doors, Hirato watched in mild amusement as the lanky youth grew exponentially embarrassed.

After apologizing profusely and ensuring that every stray paper clip and pencil had been returned to its proper place, the boy marched towards the corner office and knocked reservedly even though Hirato had already motioned for him to enter. Once inside, he stood stiffly before the desk, shifting in discomfort and staring at his feet like a culpable child. "Um… m-m-my supervisor sent me here."

"And you are?" A dark brow arched, scarcely concealing the older man's enjoyment. He loved to unsettle people, and this skittish creature seemed destined for victimhood.

"Yogi. I work with the DA's Office." One of Akari's subordinates, then. That certainly explained a lot. The strawberry blond was known by the whole Illinois Bar Association for being unparalleled in his asperity.

"Why don't you have a seat?" Hirato gestured graciously to a leather armchair.

"No thanks…I'm just here to pick up Akari's papers. I'll be leaving immediately." Wide, entreating lavender orbs met his, wordlessly begging him to comply with the request.

Hirato smirked. So the Assistant DA had finally noticed that his briefcase was in his archenemy's car, did he? Wonderful. Regrettably, said archenemy had no intention of relinquishing it so cheaply. No, Akari would have to make remuneration. His grin lengthened, causing Yogi to shiver slightly.

He canted his head and regarded his visitor. "Let me ask you something."

"Y-y-yes?" Yogi looked quite like he was staring down an executioner. Apparently, he'd been given very strict instructions to complete his mission. It was impressive, really, how a paragon like Akari could inspire such fear. Maybe Hirato should regale this underling with tales of the DA's gentler proclivities?

"What do you suppose my associates would think if they saw me giving you a briefcase, hmm?"

"I don't know, sir." Yogi stared blankly at the gathering storm, appearing for all the world like he wanted to disappear on the spot.

 _Akari sent a lamb into the lions' den. How unlike him._ A sudden snicker resulted at the corollary deduction, startling his companion. _He's determined to avoid me._ "What a shame. Here I thought the Assistant DA only worked with the best."

To Yogi's credit, he accepted the unarticulated challenge, comporting himself as authoritatively as possible and looking directly at Hirato. A silvery gleam sparkled briefly in lilac irises, lending him an edge of menace. _Ah, now I see why he hired you_. "They'd think you were betraying them."

"Good. Very good. So you'll understand why I can't give you what you want, right?" He stood and sauntered forth, eventually sliding an arm around the blond's shoulders in a show of false congeniality.

"Akari told me not to come back without it."

"I'm sure he did," the brunet agreed. "He's very protective of his work. You needn't worry. I'll see to it myself." With that, Hirato unceremoniously nudged Yogi out of his office. Returning to his chair, he propped up his feet and waited in delicious anticipation for the phone to ring.

* * *

"What do you mean, _he'll_ see to it?" Akari was a hair's breadth from firing his bafflingly gullible deputy. "Have you any idea what he's capable of? What if he reads through the case notes and anticipates our strategy?"

Yogi shuffled his feet and raised his hands in defense. "H-he wouldn't listen! Besides, we share our evidence with the defense, don't we?" Yogi offered by way of (ineffectual) explanation.

"We do, you incompetent fool. _After we go to trial_!" The yell startled the whole office. Akari pinched the bridge of his nose and took several calming breaths. Yogi wasn't truly inadequate. It was _him_ ; he was discontented and hungover. Having to deal with Hirato personally did nothing to ameliorate his ire. The day had gone from terrible to goddamn unsalvageable and it wasn't even noon. Determining to get it over with, he dismissed Yogi and flung himself behind his desk, fingers mashing keys with unnecessary vehemence as he dialed the number to Chicago's most successful law firm.

"Bizante and Associates, how may I direct your call?" The receptionist's voice was much too effervescent, like she was unaware that she'd been relegated to the seventh circle of Hell.

"Give me Hirato."

"I'm sorry, he's busy at the moment. May I take a message?"

 _Busy doing what? Dining on the souls of innocents?_ "No. You may inform him that Assistant DA Dezart is on the phone. You'll find that he'll unencumber himself immediately."

She hesitated momentarily and then decided negotiating with a belligerent District Attorney was above her pay grade. "Yes, sir."

He waited for the line to connect. When it did, the sing-song baritone on the other end set his teeth on edge. "How nice of you to call and thank me. I hadn't dreamed of such an outright show of appreciation."

"Drop it, will you? I want my briefcase. When can I pick it up?" A nascent migraine was forming just behind his eyes. He could feel it sharpen with each syllable the other man uttered.

"You can't. Having the Assistant DA in my office would be awfully inconvenient."

 _Damnit. Damnit, damnit, damnit._ In all honesty, he couldn't fault Hirato. He'd not want that slimy bastard anywhere near the DA's Office either. He capitulated, figuring he'd save time by saving an argument. "Fine. Where?"

"9PM. Bar Louie's on South Shore." Unexpectedly, Hirato's voice softened, causing Akari's breath to catch. "You remember the place, right?"

"I live a few blocks away. Of course I remember." Before he hung up, he recalled the urgency of his present plight. "If I find that you've rifled through my things, I'll—"

"How little you must think of me. Rest assured I would never stoop that low." The blond might have imagined it, but he swore a trace of sadness surfaced in the other's tenor. "I'll see you tonight."

* * *

Hirato arrived fifteen minutes early. Such was the advantage of driving everywhere. He selected a private booth in a darkened corner of the restaurant. Low incandescent lighting coupled with dark walls and decor suffused the place with a secretive air. _How apropos,_ he thought wryly as denizens of the Southside shouted profanities at the televised basketball game near the bar. Admitting it to his high-powered uptown associates was out of the question, but he often missed this side of town. He missed this bar. It had been a favorite spot for celebration when he or Akari had cleared another law school hurdle. On graduation day, he'd practically carried the drunken future Assistant DA back to their shoebox-sized apartment. An unseasonably chilly downpour intercepted them about three blocks from home, and by the time they arrived, Akari was not only intoxicated, but soaked through and trembling. It didn't take much effort to divest him of his clothes. They'd embraced each other with fierce desperation that night, greedy hands and lips seeking both pleasure and warmth while the skies raged outside.

Yes, Chicago's Southside was a veritable graveyard of skeletons best left buried.

"One sake martini." A perky brunette placed the drink before him, toothy smile dripping with pretend politesse. He raised an imaginary glass to her ability to dissemble. Service workers were expert at feigned deference. He ought to take notes. "Can I get you anything else?"

"No, thank you. I'm waiting for someone."

"Well, I hope she doesn't keep you waiting for long," the server—Nicole—simpered as she walked away, hips swaying entirely too sensuously to be incidental.

Akari arrived squarely on time, ruby eyes scanning the room before making a beeline for the corner booth. "So uncharacteristically inconspicuous. One might think you're ashamed of being seen on the Southside."

"That, or I'd not want to stain your immaculate reputation by having anyone catch you consorting with the devil." Hirato exhaled heavily and shook his head. "I thought we might be civil, but I see my optimism was misplaced."

Akari made to argue but relented, altogether too worn thin to put up much of a fight. "You're not the devil," he requited, clearly contrite for his earlier quip.

"I must own something of the demonic when a saint like you can't stand to look at me." _Goddamnit._ Another unintended self-betrayal. He ought to take a page from his companion's book and maintain as much distance as possible. Any more one-on-one meetings and he'd be liable to surrender all the weapons to his own undoing. _Then_ _why are you here?_ inquired the creeping voice he generally banished to the recesses of his consciousness. Why indeed. One look at the other man's angular features and striking eyes under the ambient light was all the justification he required. Well, that and his bouts of fitful sleep. Last night's encounter with Akari bothered him for reasons he dared not investigate. Dredging up old memories was returning the favor. He'd have his vengeance, even if it exacerbated his own unease.

"I'm no saint." Akari's reply was sorrowful, pained almost. "And you do yourself a disservice. I've always liked looking at you."

"Oh, are you feeling wistful?" he teased.

"More like grateful. You spared me a lot of trouble today... and last night."

"Quite right, my dear DA," Hirato agreed in a sanguine tone thoroughly at odds with the whirlwind of emotions affecting his interlocutor. "But your thanks is unnecessary. I'll collect my due one day," he added. "In the meantime, where are my manners? Would you like a drink?"

"Absolutely not." Both laughed, cerise meeting indigo before Akari averted his gaze.

"You were spectacularly wasted last night. I don't think I've seen you so far gone since you passed the bar." The brunet's lips twitched at the reminiscence. He quickly schooled himself into neutrality. The past was so counfoundingly recalcitrant; it refused to stay in its designated place (meaning not visibly written on his face). "Why were you in the Loop anyway?"

"For the view," Akari confessed. "I wanted to see if it was worth what I gave up, if the offers I threw away were worth my integrity…" he trailed off, blind to the insult he'd just levied at Hirato.

"Were they?"

"Yes," he nodded. "Even on the days I fail."

There it was—the guilt, the biting, stinging regret he felt every time he was confronted with his own shortcomings. Akari always managed to throw them into sharp relief. He'd have chalked it up to a deep-seated desire to destroy him, but the blond's cruelty wasn't the subtle kind. If anything, he was probably oblivious to the damage he'd wrought. _Still,_ _ignorance is no excuse. We learned that first year._ The defense attorney's lips tightened involuntarily as he endeavored to strike back. "Was it _all_ worth it?"

"Are you asking me if it was worth you?"

Hirato had not missed an iota of that trademark directness. He upped the ante, knowing how Akari longed to consign their history to oblivion. Why travel such lengths to avoid interaction if not to outrun memories? "Yes, I suppose I am." _Let's see how_ you _like being reminded of how we used to be_ _._

The DA took deep breath before answering. "Yes. Saving my conscience was worth losing you." The words were underscored by anguish. Unmitigated, undiminished anguish. Akari might have meant them, but he'd never forgive himself for articulating them. Hirato could _feel_ attrition clouding their corner of the bar. Silence settled between them, thick like fog, and just as obscuring. "It was never an easy choice," the blond whispered at last.

"No need to sound so repentant," Hirato replied in what he hoped was a winsome fashion. Akari's revelation wasn't novel; he'd expected it. But he'd be damned if it didn't steal his breath nonetheless. _That's his_ _sin; he cloaks his viciousness in the guise of virtue...and then has the audacity to be sorry for it_. "It would have been disastrous if you'd stayed. It's like you said last night. We're different now." He smirked for good measure.

"Indeed we are." Akari inclined his head in gratitude for the reprieve. "Well, I'm sure Beelzebub is lonely, so I don't want to keep you."

 _No, I expect you wouldn't,_ Hirato thought savagely, lips now curved in a soft smile. He slid the briefcase across the table. "Here you go. Everything present and accounted for."

"Thank you," Akari stood to leave. "Be careful, okay? If you're picked up for DUI, I won't go easy on you."

"I'd never ask you to compromise your principles." The DA started at that, and Hirato detected hurt dimming opaline orbs. He reveled inwardly at the small victory and watched Akari walk away— _How many times is that now?_ He wouldn't meet the other man in close quarters again. The blond would never assent to another such rendezvous, not when both of them were unfailingly accurate on where to strike, what to cut, how to hurt. What Hirato couldn't figure out was why a long-familiar absence suddenly burned so intensely.

 _Maybe it's better like this. No, not maybe. It's most definitely better._ Considering that spending any length of time with his employers' enemy would likely result in demotion or termination, he resolved to leave the other man to his own devices.

* * *

Akari stood in the hallway, dread pooling in his stomach. His apartment door was ajar. Surely, he'd locked it this morning. Or had he? His focus had been waning of late. He weighed the options and decided against calling the police. By the time they arrived, he'd have no use for them, likely because he'd have dispatched the intruder or because he'd been dispatched himself. In either case, their involvement would waste public resources. Gingerly placing his briefcase on the ground, he stepped out of his shoes and opened the door with exceeding carefulness.

The sight of his unanticipated houseguest brought relief, followed swiftly by irritation. "Gareki? What are you doing here?"

"It's good to see you too Akari," the black-haired man deadpanned in a manner uncannily reminiscent of his brother.

He'd always been fond of Hirato's younger, saner sibling. But this ill-advised late-night ambush made him wonder if his favorable assessment had been tendered too soon. "How'd you find me? I'm unlisted."

"I have my methods."

 _Your methods. Of course._ Akari's headache returned with surprising vigor; he needed aspirin. And sleep. More aspirin than sleep, probably. "Fine, whatever. How did you get in?"

"I broke in," Garkei explained as though remarking on the weather.

"You broke into an Assistant DA's home? I can have you arrested." Akari carried his things inside and fell into the sofa opposite his visitor.

"You can, but you won't."

 _What an insolent little brat._ Gareki was right naturally, but Akari's good opinion had obviously been immature. It was in need of immediate revision. "So why are you here? I'm assuming it's urgent since you've broken the law to accost me."

"I want to work at the DA's Office."

 _That_ he'd not expected, and to his great disadvantage, he was completely unprepared. "I don't think that's a good idea," he said after some deliberation.

"Why not? Because both of my brothers are overbearing fucks who'll make our lives hell?"

Akari almost smiled at the frankness. Maybe Gareki _was_ worthy of his esteem. "Well, yes. More importantly, you're an undergrad with no real training."

"Oh, come on. I'm a quick study. You know I'm just as intelligent as Hirato."

"Your standards leave much to be desired. As does your language." Akari stood, preparing to see him out.

"I'll prove it. I'll make coffee, copies, anything you want." In their several years of acquaintance, he'd never seen Gareki plead. In fact, he was much like his obnoxious brother on that score. That he'd resort to begging now was jarring, to say the least.

"Why would you want that when either of your siblings would be happy to take you on? They may be overbearing fucks as you so delicately put it, but they're good at what they do and well-established."

"Because I want to matter," Gareki replied softly. "I want what I do to matter."

Akari scrubbed his hands through his hair and caved, knowing that he'd be volleying hours of phone calls from both Hirato and Tokitatsu tomorrow. They'd class these new arrangements as a deliberate poaching of talent, and no amount of protesting would convince otherwise. Threats and speculation would run wild. "Fine. Show up at 8AM. Sharp. Ask for Yogi. He'll train you." He'd doubtless wake up hating himself, but that wouldn't be very different from the norm, he guessed.

"Thanks Akari," he beamed. They'd no doubt take offense at the comparison, but Gareki and Hirato shared the same smile. When given in earnest, it was positively breathtaking.

"Don't thank me yet. I'll get you in. The rest is up to you. If you want a job with mobility, you'll need to go to law school."

"I won't let you down, I promise." As he walked out, Gareki turned back looked at Akari solemnly, "I'm not like Hirato."

 _No, you're not. So what's worse, that I'd rather you were, or that I want him as he is?_ He stretched out on the couch and closed his eyes. _So much for integrity._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All is not what it seems. That's all I'm saying.

Akari rarely slept. On the rare occasions he managed it, he was oblivious to ambient disturbances. When he and Hirato were students, they'd leave their windows open in summertime, hoping to coax a breeze into the stifling, decidedly not air-conditioned apartment. Even the city's late-night sirens and car alarms couldn't disturb the blond. Only when his bedmate rose would he stir, cracking a bleary eye open to trace the brunet's movements. Once Hirato returned to his side, however, he'd fall into a deep slumber within seconds. It was like he'd exhausted himself after so many successive restless nights that his body's circadian rhythm over-compensated when the opportunity availed itself.

Having fallen asleep on the couch last night, he neither registered the early morning light filling his living room nor the stampede of neighbors' feet as they marched off to work. What finally woke him was the vibration of the cell phone still in his jacket pocket. He jerked awake, blinking for several minutes before gathering his wits. A small flare of panic rose in his chest as he realized he was late for work. _Well, I can work late,_ he conciliated. _Given that my day's about to be hijacked by the most unbearable pair of smarmy bastards I've ever met, I'll_ have _to work late._

"Hello?" he answered, deep rumble imbued with drowsiness.

"Goodness counselor, it's a bit late for you to be asleep, isn't it?" Tokitatsu's lilting voice was pleasant on most occasions. Right now, it grated on his ears like braking L trains. _He couldn't wait until after I had some coffee?_

Akari took a long inhale, rubbing his temples and noting that his headache hadn't abated at all. "It's only 8 here." He sat up. "I'd ask to what I owe the pleasure, but I've a pretty shrewd idea."

The other man only laughed. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"That I could use another sharp, talented individual in my employ. There aren't too many of those lining up to work at the DA's Office." In his defense, it was partially true.

Tokitatsu hummed in mock contemplation. "You're an awful liar. Tell me what Gareki did to secure your assent. You'd never voluntarily place yourself within my brother's reach."

Akari didn't need to ask which brother; it was no secret to all three that he'd prefer to maintain as much distance from Hirato as possible, particularly since he often had to deal with the man professionally. As such, his willingness to ally with Gareki _was_ rather suspect. He therefore relented. No point arguing with a lawyer, after all. It was shameful to cave without putting up much of a fight, but he needed to hoard his energy for what would no doubt be an arduous day. "He said he wanted to matter."

"I see," Tokitatsu said thoughtfully. "He thinks Hirato and I don't matter."

"I don't think that's true," the younger man corrected. "Living in your shadows can't be easy. It breeds resentment. He'll grow out of it, I'm sure." A pause. "…and I imagine he finds the two of you domineering."

"As if you're any less a tyrant."

"Well, he's not acquainted with my more authoritarian proclivities. When he knew me, I was—" he stopped short, not wanting to finish the sentence.

"—different," the voice on the other end of the line supplied. "I liked you better back then."

"Me too."

That prompted another round of chuckles from his interlocutor. Tokitatsu was good-natured, affable, more tame in his mischievousness than his irredeemable lout of a younger brother. Thus, it was hardly a surprise he wasn't completely put out over Gareki's latest in a series of ill-informed decisions. "I'm not angry, you know that right?"

Akari scoffed. "And why should you be? I did what any reasonable employer would have done."

"This is why I'm not levying blame. Consider this call a friendly head's up. Just be aware that Hirato will take all of this very personally."

"He can go to hell," the blond huffed in frustration.

Tokitatsu pointedly cleared his throat, intimating quite clearly that as equable as he was, even he had limits. Obviously, Hirato wasn't the only one whose devotion to family ran deep. "I think he's _been_ in hell, so don't unload your verbal arsenal on him, okay? Gareki is one of perhaps two or three things that he cares deeply for. Misguided as it was, I think trying to buy the boy's admission at Yale was his way of demonstrating concern."

Akari nearly choked. Hirato was a shameless, scheming bastard, true, but that sounded a stretch, even for the master manipulator. "He did _what_?"

"Gareki didn't tell you?" The older man inquired. "I thought you knew."

"That idiot." He couldn't help it; the brunet's occasional propensity for foolishness always elicited a half-endearing groan.

"Indeed."

"No wonder Gareki wants nothing to do with him." The pieces clicked into place neatly.

"Indeed."

And then it dawned on the DA: "He's going to be insufferable, isn't he?"

"Indeed." Tokitatsu's playful smile was evident in his tenor.

Akari sighed heavily and scrubbed his free hand through his hair. "Well, I'd better get to the office then. My day will likely be one for the record books."

Another light chuckle. "Probably." A breath's length passed between them. "Akari?"

"Hmm?" He was already preoccupied with enumerating his seemingly innumerable tasks.

"You're the other."

Tokitatsu's vagueness captured his attention. "The other what?"

"The other thing he cared for."

He could only stammer over his goodbye afterward.

It wasn't that he was unwilling to accept Hirato's feelings. The other man was never given to flouting affection, true, but it was patently evident in the way he gazed, or touched, or kissed. Hirato used to betray himself in the everyday minutiae of their lives. Once upon a time. No, Akari's problem was that the brunet had been devoid of proper reverence for _his_ feelings. To love is easy, after all. It's an automatic response to the stimulus of another's existence. To _be_ loved—well, that required a certain responsibility towards the one who loved you. And as brilliant as he was, Akari's erstwhile beloved never quite discerned that nuance.

Feeling altogether too worn thin to face the day (before 9AM, no less), the Assistant DA ambled towards his bathroom, looking forward to a hot shower and imminent caffeination. He'd thank the heavens for coffee shops and espresso machines if he believed in such nonsense as God.

Thirty minutes later, he reconsidered his assessment while standing in line mere minutes from a double Americano. Yes, God existed. And He was determined to destroy the city's prosecutor. Akari glanced wearily at his cellphone screen and politely stepped aside, smothering the burning urge to smash the phone against the wall. _I'm definitely going to fire him this time._ "This had better be urgent."

"U-u-um, Akari?" Yogi generally sounded on the verge of tears, but today his tone was shakier than typical. Apparenly, Gareki was proving to be quite the handful. _No surprise there._

"What is it Yogi?"

His deputy gave a nervous titter. Akari could picture him shifting from foot to foot while trying to articulate his increasingly obscure point. "You should probably get here as soon as possible."

He sighed for what seemed like the millionth time. "What has Gareki done?"

Hirato's smooth baritone came over the phone then, causing his fingers to grip the handset so tightly it creaked. "Funny. I was wondering the same thing."

"What are you doing there?"

"I'm here to see my brother. Although I must say that I'm very disappointed. With all your talk of integrity, you might have informed me regarding Gareki's new place of employment last night _,_ " he chirped happily.

Akari was no fool. He knew the precise contours of that voice and the myriad threats it concealed. "I'd have mentioned it had I known at the time."

"I want him back, Akari." A warning undergirded each perfectly enunciated syllable.

"I haven't kidnapped him, Hirato."

The brunet signed off, leaving an irate blond to stalk towards the nearest bus stop. _Yogi is going to do nothing but copy briefs for the next two weeks,_ he thought savagely, cognizant that punishing his subordinate was awfully unfair. This was yet another reason he loathed his ex-lover; Hirato shredded his rationality.

* * *

An hour later, Chicago's most talented but not-even-marginally-caffeinated Assistant District Attorney stood amongst two difficult brunets, one terribly jittery blond, and an entire office of perplexed and curious staff. _This has all the makings of a terrible legal drama,_ he mused while Gareki's heaving inhales steadied and Hirato's infuriating smirk reappeared on pale lips.

"I want to know what, precisely, is going on here," Akari intoned, words measured yet icy. "Immediately."

Yogi broke the silence. "Um, well, you see, Gareki came in… and then I… like you asked… and then this—" he gestured to Hirato with his hands, "reprobate—"

Said reprobate's supremely delighted laughter cut in. "Did Akari teach you that? Such a big word for little boy."

Akari stepped up, fully intending to castigate Hirato for speaking to his employee in so disrespectful a manner, but it turned out that he needn't have bothered. Gareki strode forward, spine erect as he sized up the taller man. Midnight blue eyes narrowed in loathing. "Don't you dare. Don't you dare come in here and act all high and mighty after what you've done."

"You mean trying to secure your future? Is that a crime now?" the elder asked, thoroughly unconcerned by the other's aggressive affect. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.

"My future is _my_ prerogative."

"So many big words at the DA's Office this morning." Predatory violets leveled on Akari. "You must be positively infectious," Hirato purred, concomitantly sending a shiver down his target's spine and wrath rushing through his veins.

The Assistant DA in question could only pinch the bridge of his nose in irritation. "Leave. Or I'll have security escort you."

"I'll leave, but I want to have a little chat with _baby_ _brother_ first." With that, he took a resistant, hissing Gareki by the arm and marched him towards the door.

Akari reached out to stop them, but he was outpaced by his own subordinate. An ostensibly furious one too, who grabbed Hirato by the shoulder and spun him around with enough force to jar loose his captive. "You leave him alone, you jerk!" Yogi very rarely grew violent or demanding. When he did, the effect was absolutely unsettling. Hirato blinked a few times in awe before regaining himself.

What happened thereafter was an accident. From his privileged position, Akari quite clearly recognized as much, but he also knew Gareki would not arrive at the same conclusion. In attempting to move towards his sibling, Hirato knocked the tremulous blond into the wall. A combination of his speed and the young lawyer's unsteadiness precipitated the spill.

By way of apology, Hirato's eyes softened as he leaned down to assist his unintended victim. "Yogi, are you o—" And that's when Gareki's fist made contact with his jaw.

A tense hush fell over the office, and not for the first time, Akari wondered when the situation had slipped from his control. He hauled the new hire away from his archenemy. "Gareki, enough!" he growled, livid that his place of work had become a circus. Surprisingly, the brunet did not essay another go at his brother. He merely seethed from a distance, breaths heavy and dragging, pupils narrowed hawk-like in rage. "As for you," he looked to Hirato. "We need to talk. My office. Now."

"Giving orders to me, are you? Why should I comply?"

"Now!" The resultant yell startled everyone present. Somewhere, a legal aide sent a glass crashing to the floor. All four men ignored it.

Hirato grinned impishly and held up his hands in feigned defensiveness. "Since you asked so nicely…" He whirled around and walked towards the floor's rear office suite, sauntering cheerfully between the lines of cubicles occupied by staggered paralegals.

Akari waited until the suite door closed before relinquishing his hold on Gareki. "Yogi, take him and… go do something productive."

The young aide nodded. Akari scrubbed his face tiredly before following after Hirato. _I need a vacation._ A slight tug at his sleeve stopped him in his tracks. _A permanent one._ "What now?" he barked, instantly remorseful for the rudeness. Yogi wasn't to blame for any of this, after all.

"Um, y-y-you're not going to fire G-Gareki are you? He was only trying to help me."

 _Strange, that—defending someone you've just met. And Gareki isn't the chivalrous type._ Akari shook his head resignedly. "Of course not. I've been waiting for someone take a swing at that bastard for years." He offered a barely-there reassuring nod, prompting Yogi to motion for an embrace. The younger man threw his arms open and took a confident step towards his supervisor, only to be met with Akari's stalling hand in his face.

Not marginally disappointed by the standoffishness (he'd become long inured to it), Yogi dropped his arms and beamed before rushing out the door, a much-relieved brunet in his tow.

* * *

Hirato was sitting in _his_ chair, lithe legs crossed atop _his_ workspace when Akari entered the office. That said, the audacious rake did muster the decency to lower the offending appendages, leaving Akari little choice but to lean against the portion of desk that had lately been occupied by his feet. Every other flat surface was covered by mile-high sheaves of files. He regetted that he'd not organized those stacks of paperwork; being in such proximity to his former paramour was distressing. He thought about opening the blinds or rearranging some files to give himself something to do, but that would only highlight his nervousness.

"What was the point of that little show?" he inquired softly, too exhausted for games.

"I don't want Gareki working for you. Haven't I made that plain?"

"Right," Akari responded tersely. "Heaven forbid he doesn't have a corner office in the Loop."

"That's not it." Hirato's expression morphed into something resembling sincerity. Chary fingertips gingerly pressed along his cheek. A tiny laceration cut across fine skin, likely from Gareki's ring. Akari found himself wanting to treat it with antiseptic and a kiss. He forced the image from his psyche, hating himself for considering it at all. He couldn't possibly long for a man who'd jilted him so savagely. "I want him to go to law school. He can do volunteer work for all I care, but he needs proper training. Future employers will not be as accomodating as you, not even non-profits."

Akari would be lying if he said he wasn't flabbergasted by the revelation. So, Hirato wasn't a _completely_ superficial, status-obsessed degenerate. "So in service of that end, you bought his way into Yale?" He was a _moderately_ superficial, status-obsessed degenerate.

"That wasn't one of my better ideas," he conceded mildly. "Actually, I never thought he'd find out."

"You prize idiot. He'd have been admitted on his own merit, but you stole that opportunity." Akari chided, shaking his head. "You're just teeming with dreadful ideas of late, aren't you?"

"If you mean coming here, I didn't expect to be assaulted in front of the mighty Akari Dezart, defender of justice." It was sarcastic and mocking, yes, but there was a hint of congeniality there too. "I suppose you're less efficacious without your cape, hmm?"

Considerable discipline was required to bite back a smile. "Don't expect sympathy from me. You could have dodged."

"Yes," Hirato said casually. "It _is_ the first time he's landed a strike."

"Why take it then?"

 _That_ certainly got a reaction. The brunet leaned forward and stared at his companion as if seeing him for the first time. His expression was uncommonly genuine, thoughtful even, and indicative of a trace of ardor. "I expected a man of your caliber to guess."

The world upended itself all of a sudden. Startling realization crashed down upon the Assistant DA with the severity of the punch that the other man had suffered for his sake. "He would have hit me instead," Akari whispered, shock manifest in his tone, "I was in the way." Instinctively, his fingers settled against his mouth as though he'd uttered curses of the most depraved sort. "You protected _me?_ " Searching crystalline eyes scanned the seated man for any tell of deceit or duplicity. They found none.

"Is it so hard to believe?" Hirato stood and carefully slipped elegant fingers around Akari's wrist, gently pulling it away from his mouth. "Would it be so abhorrent if I…" he slowly leaned in, closing the distance between them by millimeters. Breaths mingled, sending a dozen confused impulses through the blond's body. _No. I don't desire him. I can't. Not after everything that's happened._

Akari inhaled sharply and shrank back as impossibly soft lips ghosted against his. A kiss was expected since Hirato moved in so calculated a manner, yet the contact was a jolt of electricity, causing his nerves to tingle and hum like charged current. How vividly he remembered the other's taste—smoky and rich with a touch of sweetness, similar to his favorite coffee. Intoxicating enough to crave even years later, apparently. Nevertheless, he was no longer young and naïve, and consequently, no longer susceptible to the same enticements as his former self. "If you've any integrity left in you, then you won't."

"You know better than that." Hirato only inched closer and pressed against him. "You're the principled one, right?" He rested his head against Akari's, conjuring a host of memories and sentiments that the blond assumed had long deteriorated. "I've missed you—how you feel underneath me, the way you tremble when you climax, how it excites me to hear you call my name." An expectant hand tangled in pinkish hair. "I can do things other than hurt if you let me."

 _This_ does _hurt._ "Stop," Akari ground out, still feeling like he'd been caught in a fever dream.

Experience had taught him that his ex-lover could read the hesitation in a blink, the intent in every furtive glance. Hirato could probably hear the thready drumming of his heart at this range. Maybe that's why he didn't step back promptly. He lingered, doubtless aware of what his touch was doing to Akari. "Say you don't want to and I'll go."

It took every ounce of fortitude the DA possessed. "I don't want you."

Eventually, the brunet withdrew. Unease fell between them, stretching minutes into hours. In the interim, Akari found himself casting his gaze anywhere but at his aggressor. Seeing the other man and realizing that those clever hands and velvet lips could be traversing his skin with but a word was enough to undo his composure. He failed at banishing visions of Hirato's back hitting the desk, sending tidy stacks of paper scattering to the floor. He could sense exploring fingernails etching light patterns upon his naked skin already. It was sufficient to compel his arms across his chest so that they wouldn't wander unchecked.

Having properly basked in Akari's mute agitation, Hirato's lips curled like he'd just laid bare the world's most tantalizing secrets. This shift in his bearing cooled the room perceptibly and drew his mark's undivided attention. "Thank you," he muttered dangerously.

"For what?" Akari asked in distraction, mind still spinning in attempt to make sense of this newest turn of events.

"For reminding me how inept a liar you are." His words dripped poison and a rhinestone gaze grew severe, hardened. "Last night, you really had me convinced that you had no regrets with your fake conviction and self-assuredness." A malicious peal of laughter. "And I'm the dishonest one? You betrayed yourself, counselor. You _do_ want me… and it kills you, doesn't it? To desire everything you hate." He took several long strides and wrapped his hand around the doorknob, tossing a final glance in Akari's direction. "How hypocritical."

"Hirato, don't—" _I didn't mean to hurt you._ Because that's what this was—the hasty distancing, the cold eyes, the menacing comportment. It was hurt disguised as animosity. And only Akari would know how to interpret it, because only he wielded the power to wound the other man.

"Oh please, don't bother with equivocations," the defense attorney interrupted, mask now perfectly in place and pretend politesse fully intact, "not for my sake anyway." He walked out.

"—go," Akari murmured to a firmly closed door. _Let me explain._ "Don't go."

But Hirato was already beyond his reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It dawns on me that I should give you some "liner notes" since the city is as much a character in this story as are its denizens. Feel free to skip these, or read them at your leisure. I'll organize them by chapter.
> 
> Chapter One:
> 
> (1) The Loop is what Chicagoans call downtown. It's so named because the elevated trains (the 'El' or 'L') make a loop around the city's center. Ever see that epic train sequence in 'Spider-Man 2'? That was filmed in Chicago's Loop. As was that epic car chase in 'The Dark Knight' (below the L tracks, of course).
> 
> (2) Akari lives at "Fifty-third and Kenwood." This is on the city's Southside, in the historic Hyde Park district. Hyde Park is home to the University of Chicago and incidentally enough, it was also the former home of US President Barack Obama. It's an intellectual's haven filled with independent bookstores and coffee shops—Akari loves it there, but not for the reasons you might think.
> 
> (3) Near North Side is downtown, and teeming with luxury high-rise residences that boast dizzying views. It's trendy, modern, and right in the heart of the city. As such, it's very well-suited to Hirato. He loves it there because he can see Hyde Park from almost every room of his condo (but he'd never tell anyone that).
> 
> (4) The Law School at the University of Chicago is one of the most prestigious in the country. Both Akari and Hirato would have been amazingly talented to be admitted, much less to graduate at the top of the class. Naturally, Karneval fans are not surprised.
> 
> Chapter Two:
> 
> (1) Bar Louie's on South Shore is a real place. It's part of a chain, but the one on the Southside of Chicago makes the best martinis in the city (trust me on this one). They don't serve a sake martini, but if ever you're in town, the white grape is phenomenal. Fun fact: I once met President Obama there.


	4. Chapter 4

Hirato drove to his uptown condo with more aggression than was his wont. The anodyne grey of Lake Michigan sped past his window, its effect all but lost. He wasn't frustrated exactly, but he wasn't _un_ affected either. Naturally, even an iota of mutability was awfully unbecoming of an emotionless bastard. The very realization further contributed to his current ill humor.

Although he'd gone to the DA's Office in hopes of prevailing upon Gareki, he knew with relative certainty he'd fail at that particular endeavor. His younger brother was the recalcitrant sort; he'd always been. Coaxing him into common sense would require nothing short of a miracle, and Hirato had depleted his share of the miraculous when he didn't take advantage of Akari's drunkenness the other night. Nevertheless, the chance at snatching his brother from the blond's squeaky clean clutches was worth an attempt. Garkei was his responsibility, after all; it wouldn't do to permit soul-selling to the opposing side, not without a fight anyway. Yet he'd be lying if he claimed that the appeal of unsettling the famously stoic prosecutor had nothing to do with the ploy. Sure, he'd promised to keep away from Akari last night, but forfeiting so convenient an opportunity was beyond even his extraordinary gift for restraint.

To his credit, everything had gone according to design. Well, apart from the conflagration of _want_ now scorching his skin. That had not been anticipated.

He'd been precise, methodical, and prepared for even the most remote outcome. The plan was simple: Arrive unexpectedly and antagonize Gareki, provoking him into recklessness, in turn prompting Akari to fire him. Gareki's fruitless present was small remuneration for a secure future, after all.

Now that he thought about it though, the fact that the younger man would actually throw a punch was rather baffling. Slap a wall, perhaps. Kick a wastebasket. Upend a pencil holder or two. Gareki might have bristled easily, but he wasn't the type to violence another. His uncharacteristic behavior was exactly what made the situation endlessly amusing. Hirato delighted in self-satisfaction, buoyancy returning to his mood.

His pleased grin melted away when he imagined Akari getting hurt. The prosecutor would have been caught unawares; he was more attentive to the imminent confrontation rather than his own person. _I shouldn't have spared him. Time and again, I've told him to look out for himself._ Truly, it would have been the most sensible course, pedagogically speaking at least. Even so, the idea of Akari suffering at all on account of something he'd devised was unacceptable. Thus, Hirato did what was requisite.

Necessity ought to have been limited by blocking his brother from injuring the other man. There'd been no obligation to aim at seduction, and frankly, the more he investigated his reasons for having essayed it, the more perplexed he grew. Moreover, something about Akari shrinking from his caress had been enough to stall his intellection and reduce him to levying insults and unfair accusations. Watching the other's incarnadine irises cloud over in anguish was no longer entertaining, evidently. In fact, it was anything but.

The voice residing in the recesses of his mind—the one he typically ignored—finally surfaced, bringing into striking clarity all that had happened in the last hour: _You didn't protect him. Not really. What you did was the opposite._ That, Hirato supposed, was sufficient to keep at a distance from Akari. _It's the least I owe._

If only the Akari haunting his memories were as accommodating as his corporeal counterpart.

* * *

"Wrong. Again." Akari huffed, long fingers massaging the bridge of his nose in a manner he'd perfected over the past year. Being romantically involved with Hirato was a constant exercise in patience, it seemed. "You were admitted here. How is it that you have the acumen of a single-celled organism?"

It was ironic that a man as perceptive as Akari hadn't discovered that his partner aggravated him on account of the resultant flush that bloomed across his fine skin. _Too easy_ , Hirato thought mischievously. They were sprawled on the bed amongst a veritable sea of open books, eyes (supposedly) glued to their notes. Final exams would commence in the morning.

"Okay, just once more," Hirato pleaded, amethysts bright and mirthful. Akari had explained the case four times. Each further elucidation was completely unnecessary; the brunet understood perfectly when he reviewed it initially. But the prickly light-haired, crystalline-eyed law student lounging across from him made for an excruciatingly tempting instructor. He absorbed every syllable of his bedmate's authoritative tone, letting that deep rumble wash over him and set his thoughts ablaze.

Akari groaned impatiently. Hirato laughed. He then took a pillow to the face when he was found out. "You jerk," the blond grumbled. "I'm under enough pressure without your nonsense." He shook his head roughly, but Hirato could make out the barest curve of a smile dancing upon pale lips.

 _So adorable._ There was nothing else for it. He crawled across the bed like a predator, agile, muscular limbs navigating the precarious stacks of books with supernatural prowess. Several were unceremoniously shoved to the floor in service of pinning Akari against the mattress.

"Oh no. We have an early morning. Don't you dare try t—mph—" He smirked into the kiss as his victim vacillated between pulling away and arching closer.

Nimble fingers gliding through strawberry-colored strands, Hirato tugged gently while nipping along a tense jaw. "How about some extra credit, professor? I promise I'll do the work." With that, an unrestrained hand moved from Akari's hair to his waistband, dipping below without the slightest reserve.

"Fuck." His paramour's refined and sophisticated vocabulary failed spectacularly in such circumstances, supplanted by uncharacteristic vulgarities and a vast array of four-lettered words. Hirato loved seeing the ever-composed so-called genius undone. He was gorgeous when being debauched… and absolutely stunning when he came. No wonder, then, that the brunet endeavored a romp at every stray chance.

"That's definitely the plan," he murmured, sucking along the base of Akari's neck. Blood rushed under his lips, intimating quite clearly that the blond was game. Still, he stopped long enough to regard his lover with utmost sincerity. "Tell me you don't want to and it ends here."

Akari's incredulous laugh was as mellifluous as Seraphim's song, at least to petitioning ears. "You bastard, asking me something of the sort after stroking me like _that_. Like hell I want you to stop."

The saboteur hummed contentedly against heated flesh while stripping off their clothes with swift expertise. "That filthy mouth of yours—I'm going to put it to very good use…." he promised, marking a neat trail down a trim chest, each snap of teeth more vehement than the last, "…later."

"If I fail tomorrow—ah!—I'm going to fucking murder you," Akari managed through shallow inhales. "In your—damn!—sleep."

The brunet chuckled softly. "You'd have to _try_ to fail. Anyway, I'm doing you a favor." He looked up at his conquest. Mere foreplay, and Akari's fair skin had gone deep scarlet. His head was thrown back, revealing both the tight cords of his neck and the series of bruises that had lately formed along them. Hirato grinned salaciously.

"H—how is that?" Akari queried. Honestly, such lucidity was impressive given that an exploring tongue was rasping along the juncture of his thigh. Then again, he was nothing if not brilliant, so coherence while distracted was par for the course.

"Stress relief." Hirato's mouth replaced his hand and all the blond could do was let out a long, shuddering hiss and grip raven-colored locks for leverage. He writhed and moaned as vibrations from amused laughter sent tiny sparks of pleasure skittering up his spine.

Neither man looked even marginally rested (or presentable) in the morning, but both did appear quite smug. Deservedly so—despite the inordinately long night, the two managed to outscore the entire class.

* * *

Chicago's most skilled defense attorney stood in his expertly-decorated living room, minimalist blacks and whites doing nothing to turn his mind from the bittersweet recollections now monopolizing it. A sharp gaze traced the long expanse of Lake Michigan and looked toward Hyde Park from his sixtieth floor window. If he squinted, he could barely make out the towers of the University half a city away. Or perhaps it was his imagination.

_It's dangerous to look behind. I've worked too hard to turn back—even to a breathtaking blond who tastes like sin and feels like no one else._

For the second time in as many days, he strengthened his resolve to leave the other man in peace. It was best for the both of them.

Paradoxical, it was, that the Assistant DA was convinced he'd been jilted on account of indifference or lack of sentiment. _If only he knew it was_ me _I was guarding him from_ , Hirato thought, a wry smile contorting his lips. _Too late now._

He settled on the sofa and dialed Tsukitachi, long fingers scrubbing through inky hair in sudden exhaustion.

"Hello?" The red-haired man always sounded on the perpetual edge of a snicker. It was an infectious trait, one that contributed to their ongoing amity.

"Do me a favor."

"What's that?"

"Tell Bizante I'm working from home today."

Tsukitachi hesitated but acquiesced eventually. "….Sure thing."

"Thanks." He made to end the connection.

"Hey, Hirato?" The tone of concern in his interlocutor's voice caused a small flare of irritation. _Am I being that obvious? How disappointing._

"Yes?"

"Are you okay?" Tsukitachi paused. When he received no response, he continued. "You seem a bit… distracted."

He sighed. "I'm fine." And because he knew that alone would prove unsatisfactory, "…now."

"Okay. Well, you know you can call if you need anything, right?" It was a genuine offer, of that he was certain. Tsukitachi was not the posturing sort. Not generally speaking, anyway.

 _Not about this I can't._ "I appreciate it, but I'm fine. Really. It's just that my brother took a swing at me today and I'd rather not meet clients with a bruised jaw."

"Gareki kicked your ass?" Raucous hilarity met his confession, but he didn't mind. "Did you deserve it?"

"I might have." He smiled fondly at the mental image of his sibling's ire. "But trust me, it was worth it. I'll see you Monday."

* * *

After his third cup of coffee (brewed by an unusually accommodating brunet), Akari was feeling more like the city's finest prosecutor. He'd been alert all afternoon. He'd been productive. He'd been blissfully preoccupied, and therefore largely inured of the phantasm of Hirato's lips against his. Or so he thought. Having caught himself sliding hesitating fingers across his own mouth for what seemed like the thousandth time, he conceded that his immunity to the other man was more tenuous than previously assumed. _Goddamn him._ He had half a mind to call the conniving imp and threaten him with assault charges. _Ah, but he_ wants _me to react like so. Maybe silence is best…_

A soft knock disrupted these ruminations.

"Come in," he called, grateful for the interruption.

The office's latest hire shuffled through the door, atypically subdued in comportment, eyes focused on the carpet.

"What can I do for you, Gareki?" _And don't make this about_ him _,_ he appended mentally.

"I'm so sorry."

Akari arched a brow in mild surprise. "For what?"

"For bringing Hirato here. For causing trouble after you'd been kind enough to give me a place to work."

"Don't be. I expected a visit from dear elder brother when I took you on." He rubbed his temples; talk of his erstwhile lover was so damnably tedious.

"Well, I'm sure you deal with plenty of evil bastards in your line of work without my adding to the lot."

Akari's answering sigh was resigned, defeated. "Your brother's not evil. He cares for you more than you know, or even want to acknowledge, apparently." Nectarine eyes leveled seriously upon cobalt. He'd have been hard pressed to articulate why it was so imperative to impart this point to the younger man; he certainly didn't _owe_ Hirato anything. "What you deem meddling is a show of concern."

"He meddles with you too. By your logic, does that mean—"

"—Likely not. With me it's out of residual habit or enmity. I've not discerned which." That any real, substantial affection lingered between them was far too fatiguing a prospect to consider. "Anyway, I've a mountain of police reports to analyze, so if you don't mind…"

"There's one more thing," Gareki said, a trace of color dusting his cheeks.

"Yes?"

"Yogi. He's not doomed, is he?"

The older man forced his emergent smile into a tight line before it could manifest fully. "No. But I _do_ wonder why you'd be so anxious given that you met only this morning."

"He's a really nice guy. I'd hate to see him fired or suspended on my account."

Akari scoffed. "Do I give off the impression of an idiot?"

Gareki merely huffed before relenting, recognizing that he was ill-prepared for a battle of wits. "Okay. Fine. Whatever. He's hot. Very hot. Not like that's news or anything. Anyone on the street would say the same." A few breaths passed between them; the youth was clearly waiting for a reply. He received none. "Oh, fuck you, Akari."

There was no suppressing the grin precipitated by the other's embarrassment. "I'd suspected as much." The DA adopted a more serious tone, hoping to inculcate sufficient wariness. "You should know that Yogi is… exceptional. His past has resulted in a sort of emotional fragility. As you saw today, he can go from guileless and innocent to wrathful and unyielding in a blink. He's—"

Gareki cut in with a dismissive wave. "Look, you've been more of a brother to me than Hirato, and I appreciate all you've done. But I don't need coddling at the moment."

"It's not you I'm protecting." Akari's irises flashed in warning. "Don't pursue him if your intent is conquest alone." _Because he'll fall too easily, precisely as I did._

The younger nodded in understanding. "Got it."

* * *

Night fell over Chicago like silk. Hirato had been so immersed in work that he hadn't noticed. He swiveled around in his desk chair and gazed at a glittering metropolis through the office windows. His current accommodations had cost a small fortune, and as the golden grid of the city's heart stretched forth into a blue-black horizon, he reaffirmed the incalculable worth of the view. The world seemed malleable from aloft—like he could move it according to whim with a few choice words and a charming wink or two. It was for that very reason he chose a condominium on the sixtieth floor of a glass palace that skirted the sky; each room boasted another vista, another god-like opportunity to impassively observe those below.

Whenever he grew dissatisfied with attending from above, he deigned to mingle with Chicago's denizens, preferably at a trendy bar peopled with the successful and beautiful, and more often than not with the promiscuous and solicitous.

Having grown weary of work, he decided that having someone might wholly rid him of the past. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he pictured another body spread open underneath him, sweat-slicked skin sliding against his and breath hot in his ear. _A panacea for all my ills._

An hour later, he'd settled himself at the city's most exclusive high-rise lounge, predacious violet irises raking the crowd for a suitable target. The room was sparsely populated and uncommonly quiet, but that had never thwarted Hirato's ambitions in the past. Tonight, however, the lawyer needn't have bothered canvassing. A lanky blond had been eyeing him since he entered. The stranger lurked in the shadows and nursed a drink, clearly biding time, marking his quarry. Finally, he sidled up and perched on an adjacent stool, light-colored irises darkening with prurience. "You seem lonely," he said.

 _And you seem like prey. Prey with clichéd lines, no less._ "You're quite presumptuous, aren't you?" Hirato turned and regarded the interloper appraisingly. Lean limbs, pale, almost luminescent skin, and eyes that looked like jewels under the ambient illumination. The man canted his head, a new pattern of fluorescent lights revealing that his irises were grey, not ruby. _Not like Akari's._ That errant notion was smothered with another long drink. "What's your name?"

"Call me Xander," he stated simply.

 _A mysterious pseudonym. How unforgivably trite,_ the brunet mocked silently. He was indeed interested, but not remotely impressed by such clumsy technique. "Is that your real name?"

"Does it matter?" the blond queried, lips twisted in roguery. Ah, so this striking, assertive creature was an initiate, was he? _Perfect._

Hirato adopted his most disarming smile. "No."

Cool fingers brushed along the tiny laceration on his cheek. _Presumptuous indeed. And quite forward too. How cute._ Xander leaned in, breath ghosting across the thin, raised scar. He leaned past and murmured into the shell of Hirato's ear, warm exhales skimming his neck. "Now who would mar a face like that? A dismissed lover, perhaps?"

"I'm afraid the truth is far less scintillating. Sibling rivalry."

"You poor thing." Under the countertop, a discreet hand landed on his thigh and traveled scandalously higher and higher, thumb following the seam of his trousers with remarkable abandon. "Fortunately for you, I've just the thing to lift your spirits."

"Do you now?" Hirato wondered idly about the amount of alcohol he'd imbibed if he was liable to persuasion with minimal effort on his would-be seducer's part. After a few moments' reflection, he found that he didn't much care. Uncomplicated sex had been his aim all along, and this Xander would doubtless be satiated with a single evening. Add to that the fact that he was undeniably alluring and well-experienced, and the next several hours' events became a foregone conclusion.

* * *

Tousled argentine hair shone blue in the light streaming through the bedroom windows. Xander had been everything promised and more, yet Hirato itched for something, something lingering just beyond his reach. Maybe his longing was occasioned by the shape of the other man's tangle of long limbs under the sheets. If he stared long enough, he could imagine Akari's lithe body warming his bed. Or perhaps it was that this evening's conquest bore more than a passing resemblance to his former paramour. Probably, it was that his slipping in and out of bed had not disturbed the sleeping man in the least. How he missed Akari's bleary glare whenever he shifted, as if Hirato was not only expected but _obligated_ to spend every nighttime moment in immediate proximity. _That_ blond had always been more tactile and affectionate after sex. _That_ blond had never failed to fully satisfy him. This blond was a shade of the one whose place he usurped. Hirato smiled bitterly as his eyes roved over the snoozing form at his side.

Suddenly his cellphone rang, jarring him out of nostalgia and his bedmate out of slumber. Xander sat up and blinked a few times, vision acclimating just in time to catch the brunet stalking out the room.

Hirato nearly groaned when he saw the number. "What could you possibly want at this hour? A designated driver?"

Tsukitachi faltered momentarily, and that's when he realized something had gone horribly awry. The red-haired man rarely sounded so grave. "Akari Dezart's been shot."

"What?" He placed a hand to his mouth as the words registered. A breath caught in his throat; his mockery of a heart went crashing to the floor, taking along with it every wistful reminder of what he'd cast aside so heedlessly: His partner resisting a romp on account of exams. A watchful bedmate so attuned to his nearness that he stirred whenever Hirato woke in the night. Arresting opaline eyes, and lips so soft and gentle they felt like velvet brushing his. He'd lost a lover; forfeited love. _Oh god. What if memories are all I have left?_ The possibility was ruthlessly shoved aside. _No, he's not gone. I'd know if he were._ "You'd better tell me he's okay," he growled, as though commands would craft reality.

"He's alive but not out of the woods. The next forty-eight hours are critical."

"Where'd they take him?" Already he'd begun to gather various items and stuff them into an overnight bag, inwardly enumerating what he'd require for the next few nights.

"UChicago Medical Center."

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," he said, only fleetingly vexed that Tsukitachi had gleaned their history. Those types of secrets mattered very little at present.

"Do you need a ride?"

"No. I'm leaving immediately." It was remarkable how rationality overwhelmed his thoughts. Somewhere in the nether regions of his awareness, the agonizing sting of conceivably losing Akari was clawing away at his defenses; nevertheless, his brain worked with calculated alacrity, neglecting all but the most essential directives: _Put on some clothes. Pack your things. Drive to the hospital_. _Be at your lover's side._

"Hirato." He'd forgotten Tsukitachi was still on the line.

"Yes?" Exasperation underscored the word. Didn't the other man comprehend the urgency of the situation?

"It was Azana."

 _"What?"_ The revelation was enough to fell him. He dropped into the couch, head in hand and heartbeat suspended as cold fury flooded his veins. _I'll burn him. I'll destroy everything he_ ever _cared about. He'll pay interest on each drop of Akari's blood._

Xander had stumbled out of the bedroom and slipped behind the couch while the attorney attempted to regain control of faculties that had been hijacked by rage. He felt a desirous palm slide along his shoulder, sending a trill through his frame that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with feelings of betrayal. The appendage was slapped away so forcefully that echoes resounded in the room. Grey orbs went wide with alarm. Still, Xander stayed. "What's wrong?" he asked, trying and failing to sound properly concerned.

"Tsukitachi, I'll call you when I get there." Hirato snapped his phone shut and regarded his houseguest, gaze narrowed venomously as if the man were somehow responsible for Akari's injuries. "There's been an emergency. I'm leaving. You can make yourself at home until morning. My housekeeper will see you out." He stood abruptly and made for the bedroom.

Xander trailed behind. "What can I do?"

Hirato barked sarcastically, startling his visitor. _You can stop pretending to give a shit. You can start acting like a one-night stand._ "Nothing." He stepped into his discarded slacks and pulled on his shirt, not bothering to shake out the wrinkles. Myriad things that mattered only this morning had disintegrated into meaninglessness.

"Well, can I call you when this is over?" the blond asked hopefully.

Under different circumstances, he might have been intrigued by the man's persistence—interested enough to entertain another round of sport, even. Not tonight. "No," he replied flatly, slamming the front door without saying goodbye. His mind was consumed by a single vow: _I won't fail Akari this time._


	5. Chapter 5

By the time Hirato arrived at the hospital, Akari had already undergone surgery and been admitted to the critical care unit. _If I weren't out looking for random ass, I'd have been here when he was brought in._ He tried to smother that thought with all manner of rationalizations: _I couldn't have known… We aren't together anymore… I swore to leave him alone…_ Each one was dismissed as soon as it surfaced from the murky haze that had commandeered his consciousness. At the end of the day, it mattered very little. His charge had been to protect Akari. And he'd failed unforgivably.

Being the analytical sort, the defense attorney calculated the odds and prepared himself to be accosted by Akari's trusty second-in-command. But today was teeming with the unexpected; he rounded the corner and found Gareki assaulting him for the second time. His younger brother was often demonstrative of his anger, true, but never like this. His eyes were narrowed and bloodshot as he squared himself up to match as much of the older man's height as possible. Ashenness had suffused his flesh, making him look painfully wan. But there was vehemence in his grip as he seized fistfuls of Hirato's coat and slammed him into the wall, making it inescapably clear that Gareki would relish ripping him apart.

"You! You evil sonofabitch! You're the reason Azana's free, and if you think I'm going to stand around and let you waltz in here like you actually give a shit, you've got another thing coming." He was off; there was no reasoning with Gareki when he was like so. The most efficacious course of action was to let the youth air all his frustrations until he exhausted himself. "What the fuck are you here for, anyway? You want to celebrate? I bet you plann—"

A smart slap resounded through the hallway, startling the few nurses on duty.

Hirato had heard enough. Defenses already crumbled as a result of Akari's life being threatened, he was in no fit state to entertain cutting remarks and cruel accusations. Insinuating that he'd want Akari dead was a vicious transgression of his rather generous capacity for indulgence. "If you _seriously_ think that I'd contrive something like this, then you don't know me at all." His tone was poison. Calmness undergirded each word, but Gareki knew that this was Hirato at his most dangerous. "You want to be treated like an adult, right? Try acting like one and solve your problems with rationality instead of cheap shots and brute force."

The younger would hear none of it. He cupped his cheek and glared in indignation. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to play big brother when the one who treated me like a brother might..." his voice faltered along with his stare.

Hirato understood perfectly then, every ounce of his fury melting away with the realization.

He wrapped his arms around a protesting Gareki, waiting until the young man stilled before speaking. "I'm frightened too," he admitted, quiet and low enough to reach his sibling alone. It was likely that Akari would survive if he'd made it through surgery, but lives are fragile things. This Hirato knew too well. Gareki's hands clenched in his coat again—a small sign of anguish, of need. The two were alike in that regard; neither was given to ostentation in emotional display. "Get some rest now. I'll handle it from here."

With that, tremulous fingers extricated themselves from his clothes. Gareki peered at him like he'd never properly _seen_ him before. "Hirato—"

"Later, okay?"

His brother nodded in comprehension. "I'm going to take Yogi home. He's a wreck."

"Here, take my car," Hirato offered, fishing the keys out of his pocket. "I'm parked on 58th in front of the ER."

Gareki stepped into Akari's room to retrieve Yogi. Hirato watched through tinted glass as he knelt in front of the shattered deputy, one hand perched consolingly on his knee and the other gingerly tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. The older man lingered in the hallway, wanting to give the two some privacy. He attempted to avert his attention, but it was captivating—the way cautious hands slipped through straw-colored locks, how hesitatingly Gareki settled his lips against Yogi's, how his kiss betrayed affection but not desire.

If his cognizance weren't monopolized by images of another blond, Hirato would have choked in astonishment. It was unlike the younger to be so effusive—yet another proclivity the two shared. If the awe made his eyes brighten for an instant, it was nothing compared with how wide Yogi's lavender orbs grew in response to the overture. The junior prosecutor stared ahead, blinking for several wordless moments before affording a crooked, watery smile.

 _Ah, I've just witnessed the first kiss._ He might have mocked inwardly were he not preoccupied by how uncertain Akari had been all those years ago when he'd leaned across a library table to sample Hirato's mouth—as if the resident prodigy's at-the-time study partner would never deign to the title of lover, like the brunet was the unattainable one. He remembered their being found by a prudish librarian and the scolding that ensued. Akari had gone rigid with mortification.

He'd waited an eternity for that kiss. In retrospect, it had been worth every second of agony. As had the second—the one that took place while they were tangled in Hirato's sheets that night.

Footfall clicked along the tiled floor, jarring him out of nostalgia. Yogi, distraught as he was, made a beeline towards him, staccato stride echoing through the quietude. "If anything happens to him," he swore, malice dripping from every syllable, "I'll beat the shit out of you….before I destroy everything you care for."

 _Too late for that, I'm afraid._ Hirato felt no compulsion to defend himself, so he allowed the deputy DA as long and as aggressive a leer as desired. With that icy growl, steely gaze, and a perfectly steady finger pointed directly at his chest, Yogi certainly looked capable of making good on his threats.

Minutes passed in tense silence before Gareki's pragmatism broke the standstill. He stalked forward and wrapped his arms low around the blond's waist, tugging him near. "If anything happens to Akari, I promise, he'll let you," he whispered before leading a still-furious Yogi away by the hand. He paused long enough for a fleeting backwards glance. "Akari's a fighter; he's going to wake. Don't fuck up when he does, Hirato."

"I won't," he assured, almost penitent that he'd treated his brother so harshly. Gareki wasn't remotely as immature as suspected.

* * *

The room was dark, its sole illumination coming from the various monitors and panels surrounding the unconscious man. Sounds became muffled as Hirato stepped over the threshold—the barely-audible beep of the heart monitor, the muted rise and fall of a ventilator. Time stood suspended in concomitant limbo with Akari's life. He walked forward reservedly, fearful of disturbing the hush lest he upset whatever precarious cosmic balance was sustaining the blond.

The Assistant DA wasn't frail or delicate by any imaginative stretch, but he definitely looked breakable with all the tubes and wires attached to his sunken frame. Hirato bit back the urgent impulse to rip them away. Instead, he reached forth and placed his hand against the other man's chest, grateful for the metronymic heartbeat fluttering underneath his palm. _At least you're alive. Thank god for that._

"He can't feel you, you know." He started and whirled around to find Eva seated in a chair against the wall, her face half-obscured by shadow. She'd been hidden from view all this time.

"Eva?" Hirato inquired softly. "Why are you here?"

She continued speaking as though she'd not heard. "Some passersby found him near 53rd and Drexel. At 2AM. Lord knows what he was up to at that hour."

He edged closer, wary of the heartache written upon her face. Pearly tears clung to long eyelashes and a damp handkerchief dangled from her trembling hand _._ Clearly, Akari had moved another supposedly-immoveable individual. "How do you—"

"I have to hand it to him. Would you believe that he named Azana before he lost consciousness?" She shook her head in mock exasperation. "How like him to prioritize the case…"

Hirato crouched and studied aquamarine irises for any tell, any indication of why his associate would cry over a man who was, for all intents and purposes, an enemy. "I'm still trying to work out why you're here."

"Did you think he was all yours? That he had no other acquaintances?"

The defense attorney's day had been one protracted experiment in the unpredictable. At this point, nothing could unsettle him. "Of course not. I just didn't expect that he'd have friends at our firm."

"Who do you suppose told Tsukitachi?" she asked. "I'd have called you myself, but I wanted to get here immediately."

He could only sigh. _Later_ , he decided. _I'll get the full story later._ Right now, more pressing matters were at hand. He stood and shuffled again to the bed, violet orbs raking over the prone form as if the intensity of his contrition was sufficient to heal the injured man. Dark circles had formed under Akari's closed eyes. That coupled with his striking pallor made the typically-breathtaking prosecutor look frighteningly gaunt and much, much older. Hirato inhaled sharply. _Like a corp—_

"There's a coffee shop nearby. We should talk," Eva said, some strength returning to her voice. He silently thanked her for arresting the inertia of his thoughts. "You'll drive yourself crazy if you stay here. We can do nothing but wait."

He dropped his overnight bag, not at all desirous of leaving Akari's side, but aware that his compatriot was right. His presence was superfluous. Anyway, another could benefit from some comforting; his colleague had never looked so careworn. "Can I have a minute first?"

"Sure." She stepped outside after drawing the blinds and closing the door.

Had Akari's mouth not been obstructed with an oxygen mask, Hirato would have pilfered a kiss. _What number would that be, I wonder. The thousandth? Two thousandth?_ Chary fingers swept aside imaginary strawberry strands, seeking any expedient to touch. He leaned down, wishing against reason that the words would register somehow. "Stay with me," he petitioned, not knowing if he was pleading or praying. "There's so much we've left unsaid." A swift press of lips against Akari's forehead. "It's selfish, I know. Just humor me, okay? I can't lose you like this."

* * *

The first tendrils of nectarine light were breaking through the coffee shop's steamy windows when Hirato brought two lattes over to the tiny table Eva had selected. The cramped café occupied but a corner of the university bookstore, nearly every inch of its square footage taken up by groggy undergraduates and harried administrators. It was so late (or so early) that a new day had dawned without his noticing until now. He cast about the room, watching the lately-caffeinated patrons slowly drift towards the shelves of books, their eyes wandering lazily from one volume to the next. Fragments of conversations about French philosophy and particle physics filtered through the din, making the corner of his mouth curl despite himself. Students with oversized backpacks rushed out the door, winter's first snowflakes sticking against their hats and gloves as they waited to cross the street. _Nothing changes around here_ , Hirato observed. _Nothing except me._

He schooled himself into as neutral an expression as he could manage.

"What is it?" his companion asked. He'd not been adequately neutral, it appeared.

"We used to come here all the time," he answered honestly, altogether too tired to equivocate or posture. "Akari and I. The law school is a few blocks south."

"I know. I'm a city girl."

"I suspected as much when you told me you knew him, but I don't expect most Chicagoans to be intimately familiar with this campus."

Eva wrapped both hands around her cup, appreciative of its heat. She shrugged. "He used to tutor me back when I was at Northwestern. This is where we held our weekly sessions."

A bitter laugh escaped despite Hirato's best efforts to contain it. The DA was so damned predictable. "Of course he did."

"Are you relieved there's nothing more sordid?"

Leave it to his teal-eyed goddess of a colleague to be uncomfortably blunt. "Yes. But only because I'd be insanely jealous if ever he managed to ensnare you."

"Always a prince, aren't you?" Eva queried, brow arched high in sarcasm. He quite liked that he could elicit a smile under these circumstances. "Sweet of you to say, but it was obvious who you wanted when we went out to celebrate your big win. Akari stole your interest without effort."

"About that night…"

She waved in an elegant flourish, dismissing his concerns. "There's no need to apologize. I had no intention of sleeping with you."

"Then why—Oh, I see. You were testing me to see who I'd choose?"

"I wanted to know if you harbored any lingering feelings." Tension gathered perceptibly as she deflected her gaze, observing instead at the denizens of Hyde Park going about their business. Her voice dropped to a hushed murmur. "We still talk from time to time, he and I. Sometimes we'll have lunch when I can get away from the office. He loves you, you know. More than even he perceives."

Whatever words Hirato owned failed at the revelation. _Here I thought he detested me._

Eva stared into her coffee, watching it swirl invitingly while relating her own relationship with the Assistant DA. "He used to end our study sessions precisely at 7:00. Never at 7:05, not even if I had a litany of questions. We'd pick up where we left off the next week." She paused, considering her associate carefully before looking away again. "Once I asked him why he was always so anxious to leave. He claimed that his brilliant but domestically obtuse partner would feel compelled to cook and that he'd prefer to avoid dealing with a demolished kitchen."

"That's unfair," Hirato huffed, trying to imbue even a trace of levity into the conversation. He dreaded what was forthcoming. "I wasn't that awful."

"Don't worry. I never believed him," she assuaged, placing her hand atop his. "I knew he was eager to go home. He never said much else about you, only that your name was Hirato and you were excruciatingly beautiful."

"If you've known all this time, why didn't you say something?"

"Because one day, he stayed longer than 7:00. He worked so desperately to maintain his facade, but I intuited what had happened. Afterwards, he was never the same. As clever and professional as ever, but not as _alive_ as before." Warm fingers circled Hirato's wrist. "I figured—on the off chance that you reciprocated even a tenth of what he felt for you—bringing it up would only hurt."

He acknowledged her explanation distractedly while his mind reeled with the unspoken and unspeakable. That he never had to witness Akari's grief was the one iota of silver lining regarding their breakup. He'd known the other man would be crushed, of course, but not being personally confronted with his own handiwork was an undeserved mercy greedily received.

Somehow, _hearing_ what he'd done to Akari was far worse than watching it firsthand.

"What happened?" Eva finally asked, precisely as Hirato had predicted. "When I met you—through some weird serendipitous happenstance, no less—I thought that Akari had fallen for an emotionally unavailable jerk—that you'd grown bored and moved on." She smiled sadly and fixed him with an appraising stare. "I guess I was wrong."

 _Of course she would want to know. Everyone will want to know._ He scrubbed a hand through his hair, suddenly more weary than he'd been in years. If only he could stifle the unfamiliar feelings now taking root in his psyche—feelings of sorrow and remorse, and those of a more tragic sort that cut too deeply when he imagined how battered Akari currently looked. "I cheated," he confessed.

"So _that's_ why it ended? I always wondered."

"Not quite. He would have forgiven infidelity if it had been some aimless romp." He pulled his hand out of hers, feeling reprehensible for voicing aloud his crimes. "I slept with someone for personal gain…and I didn't come clean until after I'd taken Akari to bed."

"Yeah, I can see why he'd leave you for that," Eva replied flatly. "I'm surprised he doesn't _hate_ you for that." Her mouth tightened into a thin line; she was obviously restraining herself from verbally attacking her companion. Such poise was remarkably impressive; Hirato could stand to take notes.

"I know what it looks like, Eva, but I had my reasons." _I was saving him by breaking it off in such a way that he'd never come back._ "And it wasn't because I was disinterested or uncaring."

"I hope they were good excuses," she spat, resigned to the fact that Hirato would reveal nothing more.

"They seemed so at the time. Now they're regrets."

* * *

He made his way to the hospital as soon as he'd seen Eva off in a taxi.

Freshly-fallen snow crunched underfoot, calling to mind the times the duo had walked hand in hand down these very streets, the brunet practically dragging the other man along. Akari was from Arizona; he'd rarely experienced snowfall. As such, he was fascinated by it, his glittering cerise irises alight with atypical mirth and alabaster skin turned that particular shade of blush that set his partner's imagination afire—one of myriad reasons to herd him inside without delay. Appetency was as acute a concern as hypothermia, after all.

Hirato nearly grinned at the reminiscence before he realized where he was, and why.

_You'd better weather this, Akari, because I refuse to live on memories alone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liner Notes:
> 
> (1) The University of Chicago Medical center is adjacent to the college campus, on the Southside of the city. Both Akari and Hirato are intimately familiar with the location. You probably guessed as much from the narrative. There is, in fact, a cramped coffee shop in the University bookstore. It's always teeming with students and young professionals.
> 
> (2) Eva attended Northwestern Law. While Northwestern University is in Evanston, IL, the law school is on the Near North Side (not too far from Hirato's current apartment). As such, she's totally a Chicagoan.
> 
> (3) Chicago's Southside is an amazing place, particularly Hyde Park. Even so, it's not always the safest of neighborhoods. Akari would have been terribly foolish to be waltzing around 53rd and Drexel at 2AM. And we know he's not foolish, so…
> 
> (4) Akari is a state school guy—University of Arizona. He grew up in Tuscon, and as much as he loves Chicago (and snow), he sometimes misses his hometown. He misses Hirato too. Naturally, he'll admit to neither.


	6. Chapter 6

_Twenty-seven hours_. Hirato kept a meticulous count. _We still have time_. It was unreasonable, he knew, but something about Tsukitachi claiming that the first forty-eight hours would be crucial burrowed into the recesses of his subconscious and took root. The brunet didn't know if the two-day timeline was arbitrary or medically-substantiated, but he was certain of one thing: each hour that elapsed brought Akari closer and closer to an irreversible coma. _Coma._ The very thought was anathema. Such a state of prolonged inactivity was ill-suited to a man whose whirlwind stamina and super-collider brain never failed to fatigue everyone in immediate vicinity. _Not Akari. Please._ He offered meager supplication to whatever fickle gods might be subject to persuasion.

He'd fallen asleep in the armchair at the DA's bedside more times than he could count, becoming so enduring a fixture that the nurses took pity on him and brought him cup after cup of steaming coffee. He made mental note to send them all flowers when his lover finally regained consciousness.

Yogi and Gareki returned for several hours, relieving him from his post. Both seemed more amenable to his presence after having assessed his current state. Gareki's mouth dropped in shock at the mere sight of a disheveled Hirato. Yogi, too, demonstrated a quiet reverence in response to this unmistakable worry. He left them standing hand-in-hand beside Akari, Gareki's thumb tracing circles on the back of Yogi's palm as glassy lavender orbs welled with tears.

Preferring to allow them their privacy, the defense attorney circumambulated the hospital for want of activity. Despite how far he wandered along the medical center's labyrinthine halls, however, he always found himself pacing before the prosecutor's room. Eventually, the two younger men left, but only after tossing several troubled glances in his general direction.

Others trickled in from time to time—Akari's coworkers and subordinates. Instead of being thankful for their concern, Hirato only grew irritated at their audacity, that they'd dare intrude upon his vigil. Had they no reverence for his grief?

It was nearing hour thirty-one when his caffeine was delivered by a most unexpected visitor. Tokitatsu's typically-bright irises dulled perceptibly as he took in the haggard form of his younger brother. "Hirato—"

"Don't tell me to go home," he said, cool tenor at complete odds with his haphazard appearance.

The elder nodded and took the seat in the far corner of the room, calculating gaze traveling slowly from Akari's sleeping face to that of his sibling. "It's pointless. You'd never listen anyway."

"When did you get here?" Hirato queried, taking a grateful sip from his cup.

"I came directly from the airport; I left Boston immediately after Gareki called." Tokitatsu gestured towards the unconscious man. "When do they expect him to wake?"

"Soon," the younger replied. "If not soon, then…" he trailed off, entirely too reluctant to follow that train of thought to its logical conclusion.

"It's Akari. He'll wake." A reassuring smile. "In the meantime, I figured you could use some support."

Hirato scoffed. "I'm not the one who's unconscious."

"Doesn't mean you're not injured." Oh, how he _reviled_ that about his older brother—that the man could lay bare his most protected secrets so uncharitably, so unceremoniously.

 _I suppose it'll have to be candor, then._ The other saw through façades too easily. It was one of the many reasons they rarely dissembled with one another. "I keep thinking, 'What if he wakes up alone?'"

It was Tokitatsu's turn to scorn. "Please. You know the only reason it's not packed in here is because your possessiveness is so thick it's like miasma. So, tell me then, is that your fear for him? Or is that simply _your_ fear?"

Suddenly, the world shifted. Everything certainly looked the same as before—the same hospital, the same steady beeping of the heart monitor, the same rhythmic hum of the air conditioner, the same Akari. Even so, everything _felt_ different. Framed by the window was the very Chicago nighttime skyline that had captivated the young lawyer since he'd moved to the city after college. Yet it had dimmed in that moment, lost its luster, diminished in its allure. The city's loftiest perches could no longer entice him to leave Akari's side.

 _It's been_ my _fear all along._

* * *

Heavy footfall lumbered up fourteen flights of stairs to their seventh floor apartment. It was late; Akari would be home, likely settled on the dining table with his face planted in book. He'd be wearing reading glasses—they'd slip to the edge of his nose intermittently, prompting a tiny frustrated sigh to escape pursed lips before long fingers pushed the lenses back into place.

 _I'm going to miss that_ , Hirato thought, pausing momentarily on each stair just to stretch the time.

Tonight would be their final evening together; his recent machinations had guaranteed as much. If he weren't the self-seeking sort, he'd confess his sins forthwith, allowing the other man opportunity to resist his advances, to deny him the night. But Hirato had always been covetous, particularly when it came to Akari. In fact, it was this selfishness that precipitated the end of their relationship. He'd never be satisfied with working at a second-rate firm or the DA's Office; Akari would never want for anything more. It was bound to end eventually, and ending it abruptly, cruelly—but cleanly—would prove beneficial for all involved parties.

 _One day, he'll see this was for the best_ , the brunet justified, only marginally disquieted that even he was unconvinced.

He opened the door to find his partner precisely as predicted, sole overhead illumination suffusing the fair-skinned man in a goldish halo. Hirato smiled bitterly. _How apropros._

"It's late," Akari said nonchalantly. "Did your advising meeting run over again?"

"Well, you know Ryoushi."

"I know he likes alcohol and sweets," the blond huffed, looking up from his work to regard his bedmate. "And I know he enjoys your company."

Hirato chuckled. Akari's thinly-veiled jealousy was adorable. It was the only hint of irrationality present in a supremely logical psyche. How he'd miss that too. "Like I'd give that old buffoon the time of day." The brunet strode over to the kitchen table and settled his palms on each side of his partner's book. Bending low, he leaned over the seated man, curved lips skimming affectionately along the warm flesh of his neck. "Not when I come home to you."

Akari's breath hitched as sharp teeth nipped his earlobe, but he remained otherwise unmoved. "Are you suggesting that you _would_ sleep with him if we weren't together?"

Hirato leaned forward to steal a kiss. "No. I'm saying that what got me through the meeting was imagining your legs wrapped around me while your fingernails drag scars into my back."

The imagery was sufficient to compel surrender. He was particularly careful with his lover that night—soft, lingering caresses and slow kisses that spoke of sentiment but not cupidity. His fingertips etched silent apologies into alabaster skin as strong arms wrapped around the other man in an effort to close the non-existent distance between them. Even in the middle of their tryst, he regretted that their last hours together would be the most meaningful.

In retrospect, he should have known Akari could read the guilt in his touch.

It was almost morning when the blond finally spoke, and Hirato knew well that he'd spent the intervening time vacillating between seeking truth or ignorant bliss. "What did you do?"

He didn't bother to refute the accusation. Nevertheless, he took the other's hand, wanting to feel its reassuring warmth once more. "The unthinkable."

"Are you sure it's unforgiveable?" Akari propped his head on an elbow, affect yielding and indulgent; he was prepared to forgive without knowing what had transpired. The realization caused Hirato's travesty of a heart to shatter into pieces too innumerable to count. "I expected being with you would be a protracted experiment in compromise."

"Not this time."

And that's when the blond's entire demeanor changed. His hand slipped from Hirato's grasp and vermillion irises narrowed in indictment. "You cheated." It wasn't a question.

"That's not all," the brunet continued resignedly. Akari wasn't the histrionic type. He wouldn't curse or fume or try to negotiate. No, his ever-rational partner would react with stoic reserve. In many ways, this was much worse a punishment. He deserved hatred at the very least. "I slept with Bizante's son because he said he could get me an interview with his father."

And there it was—the devastating truth. Not only had he frittered away his lover's trust, he'd lost his respect as well.

"You have the next thirty seconds to tell me that this is a sick joke," Akari whispered unsteadily. The words were acerbic, frigid. "After that, I'm leaving."

 _Best to be thorough_ , Hirato thought. _Demonstrate how shameless I really am._ He leaned up in an attempted kiss. "I'm so sorry..."

The other's only response was a slap so hard that echoes resounded in the ensuing quietude. "Never try to kiss me again."

Akari sat up and started pulling on his clothes wordlessly. Tiny tremors wracked his frame—the tell-tale signs of the intense rage now overwhelming him. Hirato wanted nothing more than to hold the blond until the trembling stopped, until Akari was his again. But he recognized it was too late for remorse, and instead of offering even an iota of comfort, he added insult to injury. "I don't want you to leave." _And that's the truth too._

"I could never live with myself if I stayed." Akari made to stand. Without thinking, Hirato reached out, instinctively curling his fingers around the other man's wrist. The blond jerked away. "Don't you dare touch me after touching _him_ with the same hands!"

That growled rebuke was the only signifier of heartache that Hirato ever witnessed.

* * *

Tokitatsu's appraising stare hadn't wavered one whit. "What were you thinking, little brother?" he murmured, and Hirato knew that he wasn't inquiring after the subject of his recent thoughts. Rather, he was asking about the one thing he himself had been wondering since the night he'd forced Akari to walk out all those years ago.

"I was thinking of myself—my unquenchable ambition, my desire to be the best, to _have_ the best, my increasing propensity for infidelity." Hirato stopped. "I wanted everything; Akari only wanted me."

"So you pushed him away?" Tokitatsu wondered idly.

"In the most callous way imaginable." He barked a hollow laugh, staggered by the sheer imbecility of his twenty-six year old self. "I never wanted him to lament what could have been. I thought I was protecting him from me, or rather, from the me I would inevitably become."

"You moron."

He nodded in agreement, astonished at how easily he confided in his brother. "Our lives were diverging. As he looked for openings at the DA's Office and Legal Aid, I looked for opportunities to network with the city's biggest firms. I thought he'd finally see me for what I was."

"What are you?" Tokitatsu looked truly perplexed then.

"All the things he says I am: arrogant, deceitful, vain." The defense attorney took a deep breath, surprised at pain resultant from the epiphany. A dull, aching sensation caused his chest to tighten, suddenly making it difficult to breathe. "Superficial. Empty."

His brother laughed outright at what ought to have been a somber admission. Hirato scowled, but the elder simply disregarded him. "If you were those things and nothing more, you'd be out celebrating right now." Tokitatsu smiled as the implications registered. "You're not nearly as depraved as you believe you are. Though admittedly, the marks on your neck suggest the opposite." A bemused snicker. "It's the only department wherein you underachieve."

Hirato cleared his throat awkwardly and readjusted his collar, concealing the slowly-fading mementos from his liaison with Xander. "You sound just like Akari. He always thought better of me than I merited."

"Maybe. But don't forget that he knew you—knows you—more intimately than anyone." Finishing his coffee and standing, Tokitatsu walked forward and ruffled his brother's hair, causing Hirato to swat his hand away so vehemently it stung. He chuckled, terribly amused by the younger's ill-humor. "You're a good man, you know. Before you can again convince Akari of that, you're going to have to convince yourself."

"You say that like I'm trying to win him back."

"Of course you are. Why else would you be here?" Tokitatsu merely shook his head in incredulity. "Go track down a Thai delivery place or something, Hirato. I'm hungry, and I'd like a few minutes alone with Akari."

* * *

Clouded nectarine orbs took in the sleeping figure. Akari's vision was still blurry, but he could clearly make out the identity of the man whose fingers interlaced with his and whose inky hair spilled across his wrist. Hirato had fallen asleep in a terribly awkward position. Clearly, he'd been sitting in a chair and clutching the patient's hand before he was overcome by drowsiness.

Akari would have hazarded a sloppy smile if he weren't in an ungodly amount of pain. The early morning light made Hirato look almost angelic, creamy skin afire and long lashes dark crescents against smooth porcelain. The blond's gaze traveled from the ashen circles forming under his beautiful dreamer's eyes to the wrinkled shirt he wore. _He must have rushed out of the house._ But fantasies of Hirato being so moved that he left home without a change of clothes crashed around him when he took in the bite marks just visible above an open collar and the rope burn circling the wrist entangled with his own. _Or he looks tired for other reasons._ He didn't much have the energy to grumble, but he did manage to extricate himself from the other man. Hirato stirred at the movement, violet eyes blinking slowly before acknowledging the significance of what had happened.

"You're awake!" He stood abruptly and stretched an arm forward, intending to brush an errant lock of hair from Akari's brow. "I've waited so long."

Words exhausted the blond, but he had to speak. "Don't you dare… touch me," he took a few tentative inhales, throat sandpaper from being parched, "with those hands." And then the effort of talking became too much. He sighed heavily and adopted the most menacing glare he could manage.

Hirato looked at his hand, wondering briefly what was wrong before catching the evidence of his latest rendezvous peeking out from beneath his shirt sleeve. _Goddamnit._ "Akari..." Akari what? What could he say? _It's not what you think._ Except it was precisely what it looked like, and he'd learned from direct experience that his erstwhile lover loathed being handled with tainted hands. _Will you ever forgive me?_ He nodded tersely. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

He leaned over the prone man and pressed the call button. In seconds, the room was flooded with nurses and doctors, swirls of white fabric and muffled, urgent voices. He was swiftly ushered outside and left to watch through the window as Akari was put through the paces of rousing from a two-day slumber.

The DA winced when the doctor examined his wound; Hirato's fingers scratched impotently against the glass in response. In his fear that he'd never see those arresting ruby eyes again, he'd forgotten all about Azana. The agonized grimace on the blond's face brought all promises of vengeance rushing back, sending an incandescence rushing through his system and stirring his cognizance in service of requital.

Mind whirling in an attempt to piece together his revenge, he pulled out his cellphone and dialed Eva. She'd made him swear to call if Akari's condition changed.

"Hello?" Eva answered on the first ring. "Hirato? Is something wrong?"

He smiled in solidarity; she'd been as anxious as he was, apparently. "Actually, he's awake."

"You're kidding."

"Not at all," he assured his colleague, downright beaming at the relief in her cadence. "He's even glowering at people. And being a total dick."

The statuesque beauty laughed her tinkling, melodious laugh and Hirato found that it consoled him for reasons he couldn't quite articulate. "Did you do something to deserve it?"

"Of course not."

"Forgive me if I don't believe you. Tell him I'm on my way, will you?"

"I will." A breath's length passed in hesitation. "Eva, I need a favor."

"What kind of favor?" Her suspicion was evident.

"I have a plan. To get him back." He hated the vulnerability attendant to the request, but he'd need assistance bordering on the miraculous if ever he were to come into the prosecutor's good graces again. "I want you to help me."

"No." Eva's tone brooked no resistance; her refusal was final. "I won't let you play games with him when he's like this."

"I thought you might say that," Hirato conceded. He was certain that he'd filled his quota for earnestness—for the next decade. Still, it was but a pittance in comparison to his remuneration if he should succeed. "What if I told you that I'd only move forward with your approval?"

"How do I know I can trust you?" she spat. "Akari couldn't."

Typically, he'd never betray himself so cheaply, but the venom in Eva's tone made his breath catch.

She recanted almost immediately. "Hirato, I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"It's okay," he said. And it was. It really was. Akari had never properly confronted him for being a right bastard. It was only fair that _someone_ should. "Just hear me out. If you do, you'll have enough information to ruin me professionally. That's how important this is."

Lingering hesitation belied her silence, but she acquiesced anyway. "Fine, but if I don't agree with this so-called plan, I'm going to do everything to stop you."

"That's good enough." He smirked into the receiver. One chance was all he required. He'd made victories of far less. "I'll see you soon."

"Okay." She ended the call.

Hirato was about to pocket the phone when it chimed again. Amethyst orbs widened at the exceedingly familiar number. A dangerous, deadly leer wormed its way across his lips as he placed the handset to his ear. "Azana. You're a brave man," he mocked.

The voice on the other line was terrified, insecure—the very opposite of brave, or any variant thereof. _Good, you worthless piece of shit. You should be afraid._ "You have to help me, Hirato. They think I tried to kill Akari Dezart."

"Calm down," he soothed, adopting his most professional manner. "Tell me what happened." _So I can bury you._

"It was self-defense, I swear." His interlocutor's desperation was so intense that he could _feel_ it over the line. It was positively ambrosial.

"I'm afraid the police aren't going to see it that way. To them, it looks like you shot and very nearly killed one of their own," he said, barely masking the sarcasm in his tone. "You're lucky he's alive." _Very lucky, in fact._

The other man sputtered. "L-L-Look, he followed me home that night. Believe me, I was only protecting myself."

And that's when his heart stopped beating for what seemed an eternity. "He did _what_?" He knew with unfailing certitude that Azana was telling the truth. Shadowing unpunished criminals was precisely something that Akari would do. Hirato's eyes narrowed viciously at the man being poked and prodded beyond the window pane. _You fucking idiot, Akari. Why would you do such a thing?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liner Notes/NBs:
> 
> (1) Tokitatsu went to Harvard Law. Like Hirato, he went to Yale for undergrad. Unlike Hirato, he's a grown-up.
> 
> (2) The only person to whom Hirato owes the full truth is Akari. Some things about their relationship may not make perfect sense right now. Be patient. They will.
> 
> (3) I hope you guys are prepared for the triumphant arrival of manipulative bastard!Hirato. He'll be driving the plot from now on.
> 
> (4) You didn't think Akari would wake up and then everything would be sunshine and daisies, did you? Some wounds don't heal so easily.


	7. Chapter 7

Several minutes elapsed while Hirato's eyes remained narrowed at Akari and his mind whirled in a mad attempt to plan his next move. Truth be told, he'd expected Azana to call eventually. The man was the mayor's deputy; there was nowhere for him to hide, not in Chicago anyway. Furthermore, the self-absorbed city administrator would be loathe relinquish the considerable political capital he'd amassed. Anonymity would seem abhorrent in the extreme. He'd never run off to the East Coast or anything of the sort. And given that Hirato had a knack for seeing clients through impossible situations (both in the courtroom and under the table), it was only a matter of time before the metro area's most wanted fugitive contacted the metro area's most talented defense lawyer.

Thus, without very much effort on Hirato's part, the pieces fell neatly into place. _Knight takes queen. Check._

Only mildly disconcerted to find himself thinking in theatrical chess metaphors, he resumed his conversation. "If you were protecting yourself, why didn't you turn yourself in? Or call an ambulance, at the very least?"

"I-I-I got scared," the voice on the other end of the line stammered, too terrified to take note of the malice sharpening Hirato's tone. "You know this city practically worships Assistant DA Dezart."

"Does it?" The brunet brushed imaginary lint off his shirt and examined his fingernails, relishing the return of his usual bravado. "I hadn't noticed."

Azana made a noise somewhere between a strangled yelp and a whine. "You know Chicago PD has no respect for City Hall; I thought I was finished if I came into police custody."

 _You_ are _finished._ "And what, praytell, did you hope to accomplish by fleeing?"

"I wasn't thinking. I panicked."

"Clearly," the lawyer droned, intimating the he was incurably bored.

"Why on earth would I want the Assistant DA dead? I'd been acquitted!" The words became dire.

"Irrelevant," Hirato responded flatly. _So_ very _irrelevant._ "If you want my help, you'd better do precisely as I say."

The Deputy Mayor let out a grateful sigh, "Anything."

"Turn yourself in." In fairness, it _was_ the most reasonable course of action. Remaining at large risked incurring the wrath of Chicago's finest. That being said, Azana was terribly well-connected, and certainly Mayor Palnedo could pull some strings to have charges dropped. Nevertheless, it was in the interests of all involved parties to ensure that everything was above board, so to speak. Hirato, for one, was not prepared to let Azana's fate fall into hands other than his own. "Be sure to apologize profusely and publicly. I want to see you on the 6PM news, weepy and penitent. Say that you'd never take the law into your own hands, but you'd been looking into corruption in the DA's Office and feared for your life."

"O-okay," Azana sounded unsure. "Are you sure this will work?"

"Trust me." A dark delight inflected Hirato's lilt. "The city loves a scandal."

He ended the call and waited patiently until a cadre of doctors and nurses strode out of Akari's room before striding in, deliberate, purposeful steps echoing across tiled floor like some hellish metronome. This menacing affect was terribly efficacious; most people found it chilling, in fact. Akari, on the other hand, merely raised an indignant brow.

"Tell me, my _dear_ DA," he simpered, all sickle-sharp smiles and feigned politesse, "What were you doing following alleged criminals home at 2AM?"

The DA in question only glared, too parched to speak. "Go away," he managed creakily.

"Not a chance." Akari's inquisitor walked to his bedside and poured water into a glass, holding it before him. "You're going to answer me."

Doubtful incarnadine irises leveled on the offered cup before turning to the brunet's face.

"It's not poisoned," Hirato huffed.

The blond nodded and plucked the glass from the other's graceful fingers before drinking gratefully and clearing his throat. "Thanks," he whispered, expending his limited reserves of energy. Several long inhales later, he asked "How did you know?"

"Azana called."

"Of course he did. I expected you'd defend him." So much bitterness manifested in Akari's acid murmur that Hirato wondered where he got the sudden vigor.

Had he not been long inured to vitriol, the brunet might have been ostensibly discomposed. Instead, he leaned over the other man so that they were but centimeters apart. Akari blinked and shrank back as far as the pillows would permit. "I know talking is tough right now, so shut up and listen. Don't _ever_ do something like that again."

"Goodness, Hirato. I didn't know you cared," the blond spat viciously. If he was put off by his aggressor's proximity, he made no further show of it.

The defense attorney let out a sarcastic bark, dismissing the spiteful comment at once. Acknowledging it would obstruct his quest for information. "I'll ask again: Why were you following Azana?"

Akari's irritated stare faltered under the other man's persistence, and coupled with the morphine flooding his bloodstream, he could only sigh in defeat, comportment atypically pliant, accommodating. "Someone needed to. It's illegal for the police to do it."

"You aren't a superhero, you know."

"I wouldn't have to moonlight if you weren't so efficient at keeping criminals _out_ of jail."

He hadn't meant to, but Hirato _did_ visibly bristle then. Feelings of anger and vengefulness towards Azana were subsumed under all-too-familiar guilt. For a moment, he was rendered silent, and when at last he spoke, his tone retained none of its earlier strength. "You think I don't know that?" he asked solemnly, leaning against the bed rail, arms crossed over his chest in a posture of unconscious defensiveness. "That I'm responsible for your injuries?"

As expected, Akari requited forthwith, tone full of drug-addled contrition and clemency. "I'm sorry." His hand reached out and feebly curled around Hirato's elbow. "That was a low blow."

"Despite the mistakes I've made with respect to you, and all that's happened since, some things haven't changed. I'd never have wanted this. I'd rather it were—" He shook his head, dislodging the ill-timed divulgence from his cognizance. "What I mean is that you're a pain, and the worst opponent anyone could meet, but that doesn't mean I'd want you gone."

Akari offered a weak chuckle. "Well, you do love a challenge."

"Indeed."

"I _was_ following Azana," the Assistant DA confessed. "I caught sight of him on my way home and made a detour." He paused as if vacillating about whether or not he ought to continue. "I didn't have a good reason, really. I was fearful he'd hurt someone."

"That's called stalking; it's illegal for a reason. And he did hurt someone, you idiot," Hirato said, the tiniest resurgence of playfulness imbuing his baritone. "You count too."

The quiet stretched between them, not as strained as moments earlier, but still tense, uncomfortable. Perhaps that is why Akari saw fit to break it: "Hirato?"

"Hmmm?"

"You're not going to do anything immensely stupid, are you?"

"Define immensely stupid."

"Entertaining fantasies of revenge, for example."

Hirato's lips quirked, concealing myriad sentiments just roiling beneath the surface of his façade. "Become a vigilante? Jeopardize my career? For you? I made that choice years ago."

Akari peered at him, penetrating gaze seeing far too much. "Yes, you did." _So why are you lying to me now?_

* * *

Having a nearly-incapacitated lover was rather wonderful, Hirato thought bemusedly as he watched the afternoon sun play across Akari's fine skin. He was hard pressed to pinpoint exactly when he'd started thinking of the sleeping blond as his paramour, but he guessed it was around the time said lover lost consciousness. Or perhaps he'd always considered Akari as such; he'd not bestowed that honorific upon another, after all. At any rate, the prosecutor had been given so many pain medications that intermittent bouts of wakefulness only lasted fifteen to twenty minutes. Eva had been terribly disappointed to travel to the Southside only to find Akari dozing while Hirato kept watchful vigil from his bedside perch.

"I like him much better when he's asleep," he said to her, over-bright amethysts full of mirth. "Or when that clever mouth is otherwise preoccupied."

"You're such a boor," she replied. "I wonder why I agreed to help you at all."

He stood abruptly and walked forward, slipping his arms around her waist and squeezing tightly enough to convey the depth of his gratitude.

Eva's tinkling laugh filled the room. "I think I like _you_ better when Akari's around. Who knew you could be so sweet?" She released him and winked.

"I really appreciate this, Eva."

"You can thank me by taking me out to lunch; I'm starving."

He nodded and slipped into his coat (ever mindful of the marks on his neck and wrists), and after tossing a final glance at Akari, he led her out the door. They crossed the University's immaculate, gothic-inspired quads and ambled down 57th Street in quietude, the rhythmic crunching of now-hardened snow trailing in their wake. A sudden gale cut through, prompting Hirato to draw Eva closer as harried students flitted past, clearly eager to return to their dormitories and the warmth. The two shuffled along in a halting, crouched huddle until arriving at their destination—a small, dimly-lit restaurant, worn wooden tables and graffitied walls betraying its popularity with coeds and locals.

"I'll let you in on a secret," Hirato said mischievously, settling himself into a corner booth. "This place is by far my favorite restaurant in all of Chicago."

Eva sent him an incredulous look before glancing again at her menu. "Yes, I see why. None of the five-star dining establishments could compete with a place that serves a 'garbage burger'."

He laughed. "It's a damn good burger. And the Mexicana is worth a trip from Loop."

Halfway into her (admittedly delicious) garbage burger, Eva articulated what was likely foremost in her thoughts. "So, what's this grand plan of yours?"

He smiled the devil's smile, mind reeling with the sheer genius of this latest ploy. "To get him to move in with me, at least for a few weeks. I'll do the rest."

The blue-eyed beauty nearly choked. _"What?"_

"You heard me."

She shook her head roughly and threw her hands up to demonstrate the futility of his aims. "Impossible. Akari would rather live in Hell."

"That's where you come in," Hirato said slyly. "He trusts you, right? Convince him it's in his best interests."

"How can it possibly be in _his_ best interests?" she inquired, frustration evident. "I get the distinct feeling that you're not telling me everything." He could see her brilliant intellect working around the problem, examining it from all angles. They may not always agree, but Eva definitely shared his analytical prowess. Like him, his colleague appreciated a difficult quandary. The current dilemma would prove extraordinarily delicate; one ill-conceived turn and Akari would intuit deceit.

"It's complicated."

"Good thing I'm not daft."

 _Yes, it_ is _a good thing._ He dropped his voice. "I've convinced Azana to turn himself in and—"

"You did? When did you even talk to that bas—"

"Are you going to let me finish?" he interrupted, brow arched high. She stopped talking and gestured for him to carry on. "Azana will turn himself in, but that doesn't mean Akari's out of danger. All it means is that the mayor's people will find low-level thugs to finish the job."

"Do you really think so?" Eva pondered aloud. "I mean, we've long known that City Hall is unscrupulous; they're our most lucrative clients. But coming after an Assistant District Attorney seems hazardous for Palnedo. Akari is almost as beloved as the mayor himself."

"What's worse: Having your subordinate arrested for attempted murder or having his victim testify? If Azana is prosecuted, he might deal for a reduced sentence, laying bare all of Palnedo's corruption." He paused. "At that point, even I won't be able to keep the mayor out of jail."

"If that's the case, Akari should be under continual police surveillance," she stated, alarm making teal eyes widen. "I'll call my brother to see if they can keep some officers on him when he's released from the hospital."

"That's a great idea," Hirato agreed. "But make sure Jiki keeps Akari's location limited to people he's vetted; we don't know how much of city administration we can trust. And he should probably have them watch my penthouse instead. No one will look for the Assistant District Attorney there."

"I suppose opportunity for seduction has nothing to do with your new-found altruism?"

Another soft chuckle. "I don't pretend to be a good man, but you needn't worry too much. I'd be staggered if he could be persuaded by seduction alone. He'll need to be certain I've changed."

"Have you?"

"I want to."

Eva's aquamarine gaze searched Hirato for any trace of duplicity. Finding none, she nodded her assent. "It _will_ keep him safe, I suppose. At least from Palnedo and company."

"I'm so glad we agree!" Hirato exclaimed in feigned elation.

"We don't. Fuck with him, and I will make your life a living hell." She was deadly serious; that he did not doubt.

"Understood. So, will you call Jiki and plan for Akari's release? You might want to tell him to relieve the cops stationed at the hospital too. They look exhausted."

"I will, but be aware that your machinations may fail regardless of my assistance. Akari's no fool, you know. And he knows you, how you work."

"I'll have to put my trust in your considerable skills," he responded. "And Jiki's."

She took several sips of her cocoa in reflection. "Are you going to counsel Azana?"

"Yes."

"In order to throw the case?"

"Yes." Even Hirato was surprised by the vehement growl in his voice.

"You'll lose everything if Bizante finds out."

"I know," he conceded. "Don't tell Akari; he'd be furious at my adulterating his precious justice."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liner Notes:
> 
> (1) The restaurant that Hirato and Eva go to is a place called The Medici on 57th Street; locals refer to it as 'the Med'. It's a restaurant/bakery and the Mexicana hot chocolate there is truly a thing of wonder. It's not a very expensive or fancy restaurant (as you no doubt guessed), but it has a lot of character, and it is undoubtedly a local favorite.
> 
> (2) Chicago politics are strange. Sometimes, city administrators are widely known to be corrupt and maintain their office anyway (like Palnedo). Chicago politics are machine politics, and corruption is not nearly as egregious a sin as street crime, at least not until it turns violent. Keep that in mind for the rest of this story.


	8. Chapter 8

The Assistant District Attorney made an inch by inch recovery. He'd eventually been freed of his chest tube, repaired lung finally strong enough to remain inflated without aid. He'd never be freed of the scar traversing his fine skin, though. The bruise that circled it was a mottled assortment of purplish and greenish hues, and after over a week in the hospital, it still covered nearly a third of Akari's chest. The mere sight made Hirato's vision go red. Yet he remained ever watchful, rhinestone eyes unblinking from beyond glass doors each time the medical staff returned to change the blond's dressings or perform another battery of tests. _It's the least I deserve,_ he thought savagely, _to see precisely how much damage I've done._

Life rarely yielded certainties, even for an uncommonly gifted and exceedingly charismatic man like the brilliant, inky-haired defense attorney. But he _was_ certain no amount of Akari's forbearance would induce him to forgive himself.

Although assuaging his guilt might prove impossible, slaking his thirst for revenge, however, was well within his reach.

In service of that particular end, he'd adopted a terribly busy schedule. In the early mornings, he'd work at the office, meeting with his many clients or reviewing briefs with his team of paralegals. It was imperative to put on a convincing show for Azana, after all. Losing the winning edge now might prompt the skittish Deputy Mayor to seek counsel elsewhere—an unacceptable outcome.

Evenings were always spent at the hospital, whether or not Akari sought (or wanted) his company.

For a self-described curmudgeon, the prosecutor was awfully popular. One afternoon, Hirato returned to the Medical Center with Mexicana in tow only to find his lover's room occupied by Gareki, Yogi, Eva, and Jiki. He guessed tonight was the night Jiki and Eva would reveal to Akari the plans for his safe-keeping.

Roguery twisted the brunet's mouth as he imagined the blond's reaction. _This should be interesting._

He sauntered in, commanding attention immediately. Instead of greeting the assembled persons, he addressed Akari. "I brought your favorite," he said holding up the cup of designer cocoa. "Mexicana from the Med. So do be nice, okay?"

"That's _your_ favorite. And you promised to stay away today if I was nice to you yesterday." That frustrated voice was beginning to regain its former authoritativeness, prompting Hirato to smile more broadly.

He snickered softly as he caught sight of Eva's incredulous eyes leveling on him. Her expression was decipherable without difficulty: _I told you this wouldn't work._

"Fine," he said, taking an indulgent sip. "More for me."

Akari huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, gaze sharpened in annoyance.

"What's the occasion for the party?" Hirato asked the group.

Jiki spoke first, voice clipped and grave like the police inspector that he was. "Eva and I just arrived. We're here to talk to Assistant District Attorney Dezart about his personal safety once he's discharged."

The prosecutor's hands went up in exasperation. "First of all, you don't answer to Hirato. He's not my keeper. Secondly, I will be perfectly safe—"

"—if you say "at home", you're definitely not the dazzling intellect you're rumored to be," Akari's not-keeper interjected, knowing exactly what the prone man was about to say.

"No one asked you for your protozoan opinion, thank you," the blond continued without missing a beat. "What I was going to say is that I'd be fine at home _with_ a police escort."

A chuckle from a supremely-entertained brunet intimated that the request for a police escort was made in direct response to Hirato's questioning of the other's intelligence. If at all possible, Akari grew more nettled than previously.

"We would prefer that you make other arrangements, sir. Your home address is well-known to locals and far too vulnerable. Alternatively, we can place you in temporary police custody," Jiki informed officiously, completely ignoring his interlocutor's threatening glare. "So please cooperate."

In the ensuing quiet, Yogi swallowed thickly, lavender orbs dancing nervously between his supervisor and the inspector. "Y-y-you can stay with me," the young attorney offered, clearly hoping he'd be declined. Incapacitated or no, Akari's gift for inspiring fear amongst his subordinates was fully intact.

"Or me," Gareki added. "If you don't mind living in a shoebox."

Only Hirato would have noticed, because only he was observing the bed-ridden blond so keenly, but Akari was rather moved by the overtures. Crystalline eyes widened a fraction, and for a moment the crease between his brows softened. "I appreciate it, but I'd rather not inconvenience you to such a degree."

"Inconvenience me then," Hirato said, causing Yogi's jaw to drop and Eva's mouth to twitch. "Surely upsetting _my_ day-to-day activities wouldn't weigh too heavily on your conscience."

"Hell no," the Assistant DA refused flatly, atypical coarseness leaving no room for negotiation.

It was Eva's turn to speak. "Actually, Jiki and I are the ones who suggested it to Hirato. We felt you'd be safest where no one would think to look for you. He's got plenty of space and you wouldn't be there long."

"Do I look the fool?" Akari inquired, sarcasm dripping from each droll syllable. "This has all the makings of one of Hirato's schemes."

"Akari..." Eva placated before being cut off by Hirato.

"What on earth would I gain by entertaining such a disagreeable houseguest?"

"Oh, please. We both know what you're up to," Akari spat.

"Do we?" _Of course we do._ The brunet might have keeled over in giddy delight if he weren't playing a role. Naturally, the both of them were acutely aware of Hirato's designs (the lustful ones, anyway)—he'd made to take the blond atop his own workspace only the other day. How much of that little interlude the DA would deem fit to divulge remained to be seen. Would the other man reveal the fact that sexual tension (at minimum) still obtained between them? Or would he evade? _Your move, Akari._

"Listen, Eva." The patient turned his attention to his erstwhile pupil. "I know you're trying to protect me, but staying at Hirato's will be ineffectual on that score."

"Why?" Jiki asked, an expression of perfect confusion twisting his striking features. "It sounds pretty effective to me."

Akari pinched the bridge of his nose, ostensibly at his wit's end, and far too drained to equivocate further, even before an audience. "Because he's trying to fuck me," he ultimately growled, startling the police officer and sending Hirato into a round of mocking giggles.

"Oh, you poor, poor man," Hirato said between forced laughs, "Naivety does not become you in the least." He strode over to the DA and leaned close, lips barely brushing the shell of an ear. Long fingers tightened on the bedrail as Akari bit down the resultant gasp. When the brunet spoke, however, it was loud enough for all present parties to apprehend. "Do you suppose there are many in your circle of acquaintances who _aren't_ trying to fuck you?" He tittered again, pointedly allowing warm breath to ghost along now-flushed skin. "Well, except for Yogi," he conceded, voice a bit louder now, unwavering eyes fixed on the jittery youth in question—an unmistakable warning. "Unfortunately for him, he seems intent on my brother."

"Hirato!" Gareki's yell punctuated the hushed murmurs following that divulgence. "Cut that older brother shit out. You suck at it."

"Am I mistaken, Yogi?" the lawyer lilted, truly pleased that he'd so easily upset everyone in the room. Yogi merely shifted uncertainly from foot to foot and averted his eyes, at a total loss for how to answer the question. To reply in the affirmative would stoke Hirato's wrath; to do so negatively would offend Gareki.

"Enough!" Akari's icy rebuke sliced through the expectant silence. The presence of vulgarities on his ex-lover's lips was sending a trill through him, and he _loathed_ himself for it. Couple that with the way Hirato enunciated the word 'fuck'—like he was mentally engaging in the very act—and it was no surprise that Akari went scarlet. "Not everyone is a shameless lecher," he managed after a few measured breaths.

Hirato's _coup de grâce_ had been planned a week in advance, pitch-perfectly calibrated to appeal to all the DA's salient proclivities—love of challenge, hatred of weakness (especially in himself), self-disgust for desiring Hirato, and perhaps a repugnance of Hirato more generally. "Maybe you're right. Even so, I'm left with the rather fascinating conclusion that you're refusing the most reasonable course of action because you fear being unable to resist my charms." A Cheshire grin wormed its way across his lips. "Have I got the gist of it, Akari?"

Akari assented to the suggested accomodations with little resistance after that.


	9. Chapter 9

Nearly a week after his latest living accommodations had been secured, a rather hesitant Akari prepared himself to be discharged from the hospital. He'd recently begun respiratory therapy. It was a less grueling process in the beginning—a series of breathing exercises designed to reclaim lung capacity. That had been fine; the physical therapy that followed, however, always managed to leave him completely spent, even though the actions he was instructed to perform were not especially taxing in and of themselves.

It made him more ill-humored than typical—knowing that activities that he'd once done with little thought had become a calculated expenditure of limited energy.

It made him vulnerable, too, and he despised that he'd be under Hirato's scrutiny in this diminished state.

He returned from his final inpatient therapy session to find Eva visiting. Akari had always liked Eva; she was diligent and skilled—two qualities he held in highest esteem. That she was uncommonly beautiful and did not leverage this allure to beguile her way into accomplishment was yet another of her more admirable qualities. _Unlike Hirato_ , his mind supplied before he could stop himself. After all these years, it appeared he was unable to forgive the other's indiscretion. _There's no honor in sleeping your way to success, particularly when you're as talented as he is._

Eva's chiming laughter arrested the inertia of his thoughts. "What's wrong, Akari? You look like you're about to wring Hirato's neck."

"Blood-sucking bastards don't die that easily."

The glass-eyed beauty shook her head. "Be nice, okay? It was awfully kind of him to let you stay at his place."

"That's what worries me," he confessed. "He's not given to charity."

"It's impossible, isn't it?" She canted her head and regarded him thoughtfully.

"What's impossible?" he inquired, helping himself to the coffee she offered.

"Believing that he cares for you."

Akari took a long sip, considering how best to avoid a conversation about his erstwhile lover. Determining that it was inevitable, he opted for candor. "I know he cares; he's come to visit every day, after all."

"You two have been spending a lot of time together lately. Have you talked of reconciliation?"

"Absolutely not," the prosecutor said flatly. "Sentiment alone is insufficient to maintain a relationship. Besides, he's quite content being unfettered, unattached."

Eva sighed wearily. "I thought so too at first, before—" she stalled, ostensibly vacillating about whether or not she should continue.

"Before?" Akari prodded.

"Before you were hospitalized. You should have seen him when he learned what happened, Akari. He was so livid, so _hurt._ I didn't know he could feel such things." She gave a nervous titter. "He'd probably murder me if he found out I told you that."

"Probably," the DA agreed mildly before he grew somber. "I won't deny that we matter to each other. We have such a long history, after all. Ultimately, however, what ended our relationship then is the same thing that drives him to seduction now: Hirato cares more about winning than anything else."

Something flashed in aquamarine eyes then, something bespeaking things that Akari could only guess at. Nevertheless, Eva added nothing further on the matter. "Well, you know him better than I do."

"That I do."

"Anyway," she said, waving a hand to indicate change of subject. "I bet you're looking forward to being discharged, at least."

Akari nodded. "Indeed. It might be worth putting up with Hirato's nonsense just to get out of here."

* * *

Hirato rarely grew impatient. Since much of his professional life was dedicated to clientele of a morally ambiguous character, he'd learned long ago to cultivate a monk-like patience in the face of life's vicissitudes—at least on the surface. It was somewhat vexing, then, to find himself drumming his nails atop the steering wheel in anticipation of Akari's release. He arrived on the Southside two hours earlier than necessary. The first he was able to fritter away by browsing the shelves in the University Bookstore. Having flipped through _Freakonomics_ for the third time, he decided that his efforts would be better wasted at the Medical Center.

Snow fell in heavy, wet clumps and gathered thickly on the streets as he ambled towards the hospital. He grinned. _Akari will be pleased to be outside._ Then he schooled his face into an expression of perfect equanimity (lest he be found out). As he stepped through the doors, he caught a flash of straw-colored hair that could only belong to Akari's second-in-command. Yogi and Gareki were standing in the corner of the lobby. Hirato made to approach them, but the sight of the blond stopped him short. To say that Yogi appeared distressed would be an understatement—from his wildly gesticulating hands to his ramrod spine, he was every inch the wounded, furious young man that had threatened him the night Akari was shot. In contrast, Gareki had his arms crossed, posture unconsciously defensive, expression impassive except for the barest trace of impatience. In that moment, the defense attorney was struck by how alike he and his brother were. It was on account of this similarity that he understood completely what Gareki's bearing meant.

 _Trouble in paradise, hmmm?_ The Hirato of several weeks ago might have smirked sagely and commenced teasing immediately. Today, he observed furtively from behind a nearby pillar, intuiting that the conversation would deflate his buoyant mood.

"You're overreacting." Gareki was saying. "I only meant that we're moving too fast."

Yogi nearly choked, but when he spoke, his tenor retained none of its everyday insecurity. "Really? Because I distinctly remember _you_ kissing _me_ first."

"I never said I didn't like you, only that I think it's too soon for us to be in a committed relationship," the brunet replied. Behind the partition, Hirato winced. _Bad move, little brother._

Lavender orbs narrowed venomously as Yogi squared himself up in a manner uncannily reminiscent of his superior. "And everything afterwards? We've been together day and night for the last several weeks. What was that?"

Gareki's countenance shifted then, softening perceptibly. "I'm sorry, Yogi. I realize I may have given you the wrong idea, but we were both so upset when Akari was unconscious, and I—"

The young attorney held up his hand, prompting his interlocutor's immediate silence. "Am I to understand that you _used_ me?" he whispered dangerously.

"Of course not," Gareki answered in a mollifying tone. "Only that I moved things along faster than I should have. I didn't mean to hurt you; I thought I was helping."

Several breaths passed in tense quietude.

"I don't need your pity," Yogi finally hissed in cold fury. He whirled around and stormed past Hirato, the silvery gleam in his gaze lending a menace to his affect that was thoroughly at odds with his characteristically cheerful demeanor.

"Fuck." Gareki made to follow, but he was stilled by long fingers curling around his arm.

"Let him go," Hirato advised. "You'll make things worse. Trust me, I know."

"I'd rather not take relationship pointers from _you_ ," the younger retorted, wrenching himself free.

Hirato shrugged dismissively and made for the elevator bank.

* * *

"If you think I'm going to be wheeled out of here, you're sorely mistaken," Akari said coolly, incarnadine irises fixed on a wheelchair as if it had done him a grievous injury.

The attendant protested. "I'm sorry, Mr. Dezart, but it's hospital policy for discharges."

Hirato bit back a chuckle and settled a consoling hand on the long-suffering volunteer's shoulder. "Don't worry. He won't sue; he's far too noble for that," he lilted, doing nothing to quell the boy's fear. "Besides," the defense attorney continued, "I can see to him from here."

"What do you mean _see_ to me?" the blond inquired sharply. "I'm quite capable of looking after myself, thank you."

"Forgive me if I don't believe you, but traipsing around one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in the city well after midnight and getting yourself shot suggests otherwise."

Akari tutted and averted his eyes.

Hirato, however, wore the devil's smile as he led an indignant city prosecutor out of the hospital.

Driving to Akari's residence was uneventful. The DA stared placidly out the window, the corners of his lips turned up in the ghost of a smile. Hirato could hardly keep from beaming himself. The blond seldom smiled in earnest, and never in Hirato's presence, at least not in recent memory. He was attempting to recall the last time he'd seen those pale lips curve when he felt a tentative hand settle atop the gear shift, making contact with his own and shying away immediately. His skin burned where it met the other's, conjuring memories of how that touch had never failed to ignite his desire.

Akari cleared his throat awkwardly. "Hirato, I want to thank you."

"There are so many ways to do precisely that," he chirped, relishing the pique he'd effected with but a few words.

The prosecutor pinched the bridge of his nose. "I knew I would regret this."

"Probably."

"Come on," Akari said in resignation, "I'll show you how the other half lives."

The Assistant DA's apartment, Hirato concluded, was a testament to the man's devotion to his work. Shelves of legal volumes lined the living room walls, lending it the feel of a lived-in library. The room was extraordinarily well-kept—as expected. Upon closer inspection, the inky-haired man found that the books were arranged chronologically. Hirato trailed after Akari, slipping past a spotless kitchen. Copper cooking instruments hung from the ceiling, betraying the blond's culinary prowess. Even so, they looked new, like they'd been placed there and forgotten entirely. The defense attorney wondered idly how many others had sampled Akari's cooking; he wondered how many others had sampled Akari.

"You are patently not the other half, counselor," he teased, making his way to the bedroom.

"I don't live on the Near North Side either," Akari countered.

Hirato peered around the door frame, feeling a bit like he was intruding. He'd forfeited the right to such intimacy, after all. But Akari didn't seem to mind; he was too preoccupied with folding his clothes along the proper creases. Violet eyes raked over the room, taking in the small stack of fiction on the nightstand and the immaculately made bed. He remembered how his lover was always fastidious in that regard. Once upon a time, Hirato had made it a point to find novel ways of disarraying the tightly-tucked sheets. Now, he imagined the other man's reaction if he should push him against the mattress and debauch him like never before. Several minutes elapsed in fanciful contemplation before he gathered his scattered wits. "How do you know I live there?"

"Where else?" Akari queried, still distracted by packing.

Hirato slinked into the room, stuffing his hands in his pockets so that they wouldn't wander to Akari's person. It wouldn't do to sabotage his plan before its inception. "Why do you live here, then?"

"I like Hyde Park."

"No one likes Hyde Park. Well, except college professors."

"Maybe I should have been a college professor."

"You wouldn't be sporting that bruise right now if you had."

Akari spun around and considered his companion, mouth a thin line and jewel-toned eyes narrowed in appraisal. "We'd never have met, either."

Surprisingly, in the resultant hush, it was the defense attorney who refused to meet the other's gaze. "Wouldn't you prefer it that way? Picture it: You as an idealistic instructor, inspiring all kinds of daydreaming amongst your students." He forced a hollow bark of a laugh and hoped it sounded sufficiently unperturbed. "You'd have flourished in academia."

The blond disregarded the back-handed compliment, trademark directness cutting to the heart of the matter without equivocation. "I don't want to forget you, Hirato," Akari turned his back and resumed organizing his suitcase. "It wasn't all bad."

 _It wasn't all bad._ How could he possibly respond to that? Once again, staggering artlessness had completely disarmed him, leaving him no quarter, nowhere to go in terms of rejoinder. "Well I expect it's easier for the one who walked away." _Shit._ He'd meant to sound jovial, playful even, not so embittered and resentful.

"You didn't leave me much of a choice," Akari responded, his nonchalance causing Hirato's heart to twist in a dull, aching fashion.

"Are you saying that you would have stayed if I hadn't cheated? Even though we chose different professional paths?"

The prosecutor zipped his luggage and picked it up, turning to face him once more. "Who can say? Although I do suspect that having access to your bank account might have enticed me to indulgence on that score."

"And you're supposed to be the principled one…"

* * *

Quietude reigned once more during their drive uptown. Hirato noted how these periodic silences were becoming more and more commonplace. _Is that a good or a bad thing?_ He weighed the evidence en route, eventually settling on the more positive interpretation.

Only after they'd parked and entered the elevator did Akari speak. "You live on the sixtieth floor?"

"You were expecting the six hundred and sixty sixth?"

"Something like that," Akari confirmed, a smirk twisting his lips.

"Well, I hope you won't be disappointed then."

The DA inhaled sharply as he was shown inside. A large, exceedingly well-appointed living room greeted them, minimalist blacks and whites imbuing it with a modern elegance. The glass fireplace was already ablaze, providing a cozy respite from the biting Chicago wind. Despite the luxurious décor, it was the view that drew the blond's attention. He dropped his suitcase and made a beeline for the bay windows. Lake Michigan's slate blue expanse melted into a grey horizon, giving the illusion that they were floating above its waters. "Do these windows go—"

"Across the whole unit, yes."

"You have an entire _wall_ made of glass?"

"Two walls, actually. This is a corner apartment."

Akari placed his hand to the window, mesmerized by the swirl of snowfall against a clouded sky. "I know you sold your soul for this place, but I'm beginning to think it was worth it."

"I thought so too," Hirato said affably. "Let me show you to the guest room."

* * *

Akari took his time settling into his new quarters, eyes involuntarily darting to the window from time to time. While Hirato's living room overlooked Lake Michigan, his guest room overlooked the city. The prosecutor watched rush hour traffic inching along darkening streets sixty floors below, relishing the sensation of being so far aloft. He pondered briefly what view the master bedroom afforded and swallowed the unexpectedly fervent urge to find out. He'd just begun hanging his clothes when Gareki's voice filtered through the door.

"Where's Akari?" the youth demanded, his urgent tone compelling the prosecutor's concern.

"He's settling in." Hirato's response was uncharacteristically terse. "What do you want?"

 _Ah, so my accommodations come with a bouncer_ and _police escort_ , Akari thought mischievously.

"I need to see him," Gareki said hurriedly. "It's about Yogi."

"What about him?" Akari stepped into the living room where a desperate-looking Gareki stood glaring at his older brother.

The younger brunet turned towards him. "Can we talk privately?"

"That depends on your brother; this isn't my home."

Hirato waved them away. "Don't stand on ceremony. I'll make dinner plans in the meantime."

Akari was, admittedly, a touch frightened about what dinner plans might entail. He put images of hospitalization due to smoke inhalation firmly out of mind and led the young man to the guest room. Closing the door seemed terribly disrespectful, so he left it ajar by a few millimeters. Hirato might be a right bastard, but he wasn't uncivilized enough to eavesdrop on his own brother.

"What's this about Yogi?" Akari showed him to an armchair.

Gareki inhaled sharply before speaking. "He's… shit. I've never seen him so angry. You've got to talk him down."

"What did you do?"

The youth blanched, clearly taken aback by such forthrightness. "I told him things were moving too fast."

"Were they?" the DA queried, tone clipped and precise.

"Yes. But before you say 'I told you so' just hear me out. I think we sort of leaned on each other when we weren't sure if you were going to make it. He was so broken up, and I wanted to help. I messed up and—"

"And?"

"—and took things further than I should have."

"Let me make sure I've got all the facts straight," Akari intoned, his courtroom persona taking over instinctually. "You pursued him, heedless of my warning, because you thought of him as charity work. Realizing your mistake, you attempted to rescind your overtures and let slip your remarkably insulting motivations for initiating a relationship in the first place. Now you want me to pacify him on your behalf." He paused. "Is that correct?"

"You make me sound like Hirato when you say it like that." Gareki dropped his gaze, a flush of color staining his cheeks.

"Whatever else Hirato may be, _he_ would never condescend to romantic entanglements out of pity."

The youth was stunned into silence.

Akari's exhaustion threatened to overwhelm. He'd been on his feet far too long and no longer possessed the wherewithal for admonishment. _So much for physical therapy._ "Yogi's family was killed when he was about eight. He was at a sleepover when it happened." Midnight eyes widened in shock. "From the evidence, it looks like a robbery that had gone sour. The culprit was never caught," he explained, hoping that revealing his subordinate's history would give some context for Yogi's predilection towards attachment.

He could see Gareki's mind working around the problem, putting the pieces neatly together. "That's why he's so volatile."

"No. What you think is volatility is born of an instinct to protect the people he cares for," the prosecutor said bitterly. "You see, he doesn't want to lose anyone else."

"I had no idea," the brunet scrubbed a hand through his hair.

"Clearly."

"I'm so sorry. I should have listened to you when you told me to back off."

"What is it you want from him? Attention? Sex? Partnership?"

"I'd like to find out," Gareki regarded his host, expression yielding and sincere, "but I don't know where I'll be next year. I don't want things to get serious only to have everything go up in flames."

"What about what he wants?" Akari prodded.

The brunet sighed wearily. "Maybe I'm more like Hirato than I want to be. We're both selfish, really... and when I think about how he treated you…"

"So you feel like you'll do the same to Yogi?"

"Yeah..."

"You two have much in common, no doubt. Absurdity, for example. I'm no scientist, but I'm certain that infidelity isn't genetically-inherited or contagious," Akari said, sarcasm edging every syllable. "Running won't ameliorate the situation."

A beat. "I fucked this one up, didn't I?"

"Royally."

The brunet closed his eyes, lost in contrition. "Do you think I can fix it?" he ultimately inquired.

"I don't know, Gareki. Some hurts don't heal."

Now it was the Assistant DA who found himself on the receiving end of a penetrating stare. "Are you still talking about Yogi?"

Too tired to dissemble, the blond answered plainly. "Maybe I'm talking about the both of us."

Just beyond the threshold, Hirato froze in midst of knocking. He certainly did not intend to overhear, but there was no avoiding it. _Some hurts don't heal._ He shook his head as if he might dislodge Akari's words and rapped on the door after a sufficient interval of time so as to mitigate any suspicion of eavesdropping. "Akari, I'm thinking either Chinese or pizza for dinner. Gareki, will you be joining us?"

"No. I have to be somewhere."

"Suit yourself."

Gareki stood and nodded at Akari before opening the door and brushing past his brother. "Thanks."

"It's no problem."

He saw himself out, leaving an enervated blond to contend with an impish brunet. "Is he okay?" Hirato asked, praying he wouldn't be found out.

"He could use some guidance."

"Believe me, I've tried. I suck at the big brother shit, remember?" the defense attorney quipped, tone too acerbic to be casual.

"I don't think that's true," Akari assuaged.

"You're still concussed then."

"I might be."

"How concussed?" A dark brow arched.

"Not enough to miss the subtext in your question." Akari smiled. "And pizza. Your taste in Chinese food is awful."

"As you wish, my dear DA." Hirato gave a mock bow before going in search of a telephone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooooooooooo... that chapter sucked, didn't it? My deepest apologies, I've been sitting on it for the last two weeks because I hated it so much. But the show must go on, and so I posted it.


	10. Chapter 10

_Some hurts don't heal._

Hirato stared out the window beyond his computer screen. Jewel-toned orbs remained fixed on some imaginary horizon between cityscape and sky as he pondered Akari's assertion. How he longed to fume, to assail the DA's obstinacy or impossibly high standards. But all such efforts at mitigating his own fault disintegrated when he recalled the morning he'd jilted his lover with such brutality that Akari had never looked back. He remembered fae eyes dimming in anguish, his bedmate recoiling from his touch.

_He'll never trust me again; I ensured as much._

The defense attorney had aimed for savagery on that day, true, and he'd succeeded spectacularly. Convincing himself that his callousness was in their best interests was the most grievous mistake he'd ever made. Until last night, however, Hirato believed that even so egregious an injury could be righted. But that was before he'd been confronted with how deeply he'd hurt Akari, how irredeemable he was. It was one thing to hear it from Eva; quite another to have confirmation from the source.

_Some hurts don't heal._

He repeated it like a mantra, as though the words themselves might illumine a way to undo the damage he'd wrought. Nothing materialized from this ritual. Occasionally, he too could become ensnared in the spider webs he wove.

 _I've been so foolish all this time, thinking I could win him back with scheming and seduction._ The more he considered it, the more he realized that he'd truly lost his partner years ago—in every lexical sense of the word 'lost'. It was only the force of the loss that had taken this long to register.

He thus resolved to abandon his quest for reconciliation.

Maybe it was the finality of the decision that prompted him to seek out his brother. Or maybe he conceded that he was ill-equipped to weather two blows. In either case, his fingers dialed Gareki's number instinctively.

It took several rings for the other man to answer. "Hello? Hirato?" Clearly he'd been napping.

"Don't sound so disappointed," Hirato said without a shred of his typical exuberance.

"What's wrong?" Gareki inquired, concern apparent. "Is it Akari?"

 _That_ fueled a strange little hatred aimed towards his houseguest. _Yes, precious Assistant DA has a paper cut. Call 9-1-1!_ It was unreasonable to charge Akari for a rift between siblings, he knew, but he couldn't help the resentment bubbling up. "No, Batman is fine. He was sleeping soundly the last time I saw him."

"You watch him sleep?"

"Of course not. I wanted to see if he needed anything and found him slumped over his desk."

"It's the physical therapy," the younger brunet offered sagely. "It drains him."

"That's probably good for him, although it bodes ill for Gotham."

Gareki sighed in what Hirato instantly recognized as disgruntlement. "Is everything a joke to you?"

"Not everything," he replied seriously. "That's why I called."

He could hear bedding shifting aside as the younger man sat up and marshaled his focus. "What's up?"

The attorney prepared himself for a sound rebuke. "I overheard part of your conversation last night."

"You did _what_? See, this is your problem. People trust you and then you go and do something ridiculously underhanded. Jesus, wasn't fucking things up with Akari enough? Or are you trying to alienate _everyone_ who gives a shit about you?"

"Are you done?"

"Excuse me?"

"Whining. Are you done whining?" he chirped, purposely imbuing his voice with feigned cheer. "Because I'm trying to fix our estrangement, brother dearest."

Another sigh came through the line. "I'm listening."

Hirato took a deep breath before speaking. "You said you'd rather not take relationship advice from me. That's a terribly injudicious move on your part." A brief hesitation. "No one knows regret better than I do. And I'm telling you, you're about to become intimately acquainted with it."

"Wait, I thought this was about you. Are you talking about Yogi?" the youth questioned, perplexity causing his words to curl.

"It's about _you._ Obviously Yogi means something to you. Otherwise you'd not have pursued Akari to my evil lair, as it were."

"What's that supposed to mean? Why can't you and Akari just speak plainly like normal people?"

"Normal people are invariably dull," Hirato quipped. "There's no artistry in mediocrity, but since you're being uncharacteristically daft today, I'll condescend. What I mean is that if he matters enough for you to seek help, he matters enough for you to keep." He waited for the insinuations to penetrate the other's cognizance. "We don't fix relationships we've no intention of maintaining."

"And next year? If the law school thing works out, I could be halfway across the country."

"Maybe that's an issue you ought to put to Yogi, hmmm? Making unilateral decisions that affect both your futures isn't something I'd recommend."

Gareki stilled before responding in a tone atypically inflected by mischief. "You're going to give one of those trite 'don't go making my mistakes' speeches now, aren't you?" Hirato could hear the smile in his voice.

"I hadn't planned on it, but if that's what you need to hear…."

"Why did _you_ do it?" the younger queried. "Why'd you make Akari leave you?"

He would have to answer candidly; of that he was assured. Anything less would further alienate. "Because I could. And I thought it best that I did."

"But you cared about him."

"More than even I recognized at the time. Like I said, remorse is something I understand well."

"You _still_ care about him, don't you?"

He laughed. "Here's some free professional advice, Gareki: Never inquire after the obvious. You'll appear the fool."

* * *

Akari didn't know what living with Hirato again would entail. He pictured various scenarios—the two partaking of an inedible dinner, working on their laptops from opposite ends of the living room, or simply seated (far apart) on the sofa in front of the 6 o'clock news. Rather frustratingly, each new iteration of a day's events concluded with him in the defense attorney's bed. He pinched the bridge of his nose and attempted to wrest the images from his psyche. That he failed was unsurprising; Hirato had always effected fantasies, even while the man was pacing a courtroom and simultaneously chipping away at the prosecutor's painstakingly-constructed case.

Whatever he'd anticipated, however, spending so much time alone was not amongst the range of possibilities. Of course, it had only been a day, but even so, Akari found that all his mental preparations against an incessant onslaught of seduction had been unnecessary. He'd woken to an empty apartment and a brief note:

_Gone to work. I'll be late. Make yourself at home. –Hirato_

Naturally, the workaholic Assistant DA's first instinct was to call the office for briefings on all his ongoing cases. Unfortunately, his essay at utility was foiled by none other than the DA himself—who informed Akari in rather stringent terms that he was not permitted to work. Ryoushi merely appropriated the guise of a kindly old man with a penchant for flirtation and an incurable sweet tooth. In truth, Akari's supervisor was every bit as shrewd and manipulative as Hirato. It made perfect sense, naturally, since the elder man had been the inky-haired devil's law school advisor. The blond had never asked the city DA about his erstwhile pupil since graduation. Talking about Hirato always precipitated a dull throbbing in his chest that refused to ebb despite his most ardent efforts. Talking about the man Hirato _used to be_ … that only brought heartache. This he knew well enough to avoid it completely.

Several hours had passed since he happened upon the brunet's note. In the interim, Akari had skimmed and reorganized the books on the coffee table, mocked nearly half a dozen episodes of _Law and_ _Order_ , and eventually settled himself before the fire, opaline eyes darting across the pages of the _Harvard Law Review_ when they weren't chancing intermittent glances at the clock. "Late" had been an understatement; it was nearly midnight and his host had yet to arrive. His mind whirled in mad attempt to stop the horrifying images of the other man bleeding to death in a Southside alleyway. There was ample cause to worry, he justified. It had happened to him, after all.

He was having a fierce debate with himself about whether or not to call when he heard the key turn in the lock.

"Hello, dear. Did you wait up?" Hirato asked, tenor overwrought with the sheer pleasure of finding apprehension etched upon his companion's face.

"Keep telling yourself that." The blond took in the dark circles just beginning to form under those vibrant irises, the slight languor in posture, and the minute stumbling of usually-sure steps. They were tells that only Akari would perceive—and he read their meaning with consummate precision. _He's exhausted._ "Are you okay? You look like Hell."

"Long day at the office."

Unconvinced, he probed for detail. "Long days don't end at midnight."

Hirato smiled—a plastic quirk of the lips, a show of effervescence that did not reach his eyes. "Well, they say there's no rest for the wicked."

"I can get a hotel, you know."

The brunet paused in the middle of removing his coat and gloves to regard his guest. "Sometimes, I have no idea what goes on in that genius intellect of yours. What does my coming home late have to do with getting a hotel?"

Akari blushed furiously. Thankfully, the defense attorney was either too spent or too distracted to render comment. "If you'd like to invite someone over. I wouldn't want to put you out of your own home."

Hirato let out a short bark, sharp and wholly unlike the throaty chuckle that was his wont. "You think I was out having sex?"

"Not precisely. Only that you might want some… stress relief."

Suddenly, Hirato nearly doubled over in laughter. Echoes resounded throughout the room, bouncing off the glass and lending a hollowness to the sound that sent chills along the DA's spine. Akari felt like a child being admonished by a schoolteacher, like he'd done something unforgivably imbecilic. He lamented that he'd made the suggestion at all. The brunet, on the other hand, simply straightened up and marched towards his bedroom. He paused just long enough to glance back and say, "Goodnight."

* * *

Hirato woke to over-bright sunlight streaming through the bedroom windows. Reflecting off the mirrored surface of the Lake, it became nearly blinding in its effulgence. He groaned and fumbled for the shade remote. _The view is overrated._ He'd reassess once fully roused, he knew. That's why he hadn't sold the place after his first morning. Nevertheless, he preferred the vista from the guest room.

His thoughts then strayed to the man currently occupying the guest room.

It had been one day, and his program of avoiding his exquisitely tempting ward had already come across a hindrance. Akari had waited for him to come home. How bewildering, that. And how cruel. If he hadn't overheard the blond's rejection of a relationship the night before, he'd have been beguiled into hope. As it stood, all such expectation was extinguished when Hirato heard those fateful words. Whatever sentiment had prompted him to stay up was irrelevant; Akari had made his choice.

_Some hurts don't heal._

This, of course, did not preclude his teasing the other man, or finding innovative ways of making pink flush across porcelain cheeks. Oh no. If Hirato had to undergo the agony of having the DA so damnably close, then Akari would requite. It was only fair.

A devilish leer danced across his lips as he considered the myriad tortures he might contrive for his unwitting victim. He was preparing to amble around the living room in a state of disheveled under-dress when his phone trilled.

One look at the number was all he required to defer this plan and drive to the office without delay.

When he arrived at work, Bizante and Azana were already seated before his desk. Upon seeing how harried he appeared, his superior arched an inquisitive brow.

"Pardon my tardiness," Hirato said with pitch-perfect cordiality, "I had a long night."

Given his reputation as a profligate inamorato, it was no surprise that the admission prompted a round of knowing chuckles. He grinned vacuously, grateful that his interlocutors would never guess the far-more-scandalous truth.

Bizante cleared his throat, dispelling the momentary levity. "Be that as it may, Hirato, it will not do to have your nocturnal habits encroach upon your work."

"I understand, sir," the attorney said dutifully. "It won't happen again."

"Azana and I would like to discuss the state of his case," the older man intoned. "Off the record," he added pointedly.

"Of course." _If these walls could talk_ , Hirato thought wryly. His office had seen a number of delicate situations. In fact, it was his notable discretion that contributed most to his success. "Our priority is to make Azana's mortal fear plausible."

An insecure, nasal tone interrupted. "I _was_ in fear of my life. Assistant DA Dezart was stalking me."

"Yes," the brunet said tersely. "So you've explained. But you're going to need more than that to convince a jury."

It was Bizante's turn to interject. "And what is it you propose?"

"I've done some research," he informed. "It seems that there's something amiss over at City Hall or the DA's Office, or both. There have been a string of city administrators who've had charges brought against them only to have these charges miraculously dropped."

"You're kidding," Azana said before realizing his mistake. "I mean… I didn't think it'd be that easy to find the corruption."

"It wasn't easy." Indeed, Hirato had used every connection he'd ever forged in order to obtain what lacunose evidence he'd gathered.

"Is Akari Dezart implicated?" Bizante asked. "That would seal this case."

"Not that I can tell. Frankly, he need not be involved. We merely plant enough doubt to malign his character. The rest will take care of itself." _Sorry, Batman. The next few weeks will be rough._

The resultant sneer curving his senior partner's lips made the brunet's stomach churn. Bizante was all too pleased to see the opposing side brought low, to see _Akari_ brought low. Several weeks ago, Hirato would have shared this attitude. Now, he fiddled with an ink pen to keep from assaulting his supervisor. "Good work. Keep it up."

Azana took his leave, presumably satisfied with the progress his counsel had made. Bizante, however, merely considered his subordinate curiously, as though analyzing the man for any trace of fallibility or inexactitude. "I don't believe I've ever seen you look so tired. Are your nighttime activities interfering with the day?"

"Not at all. It's my brother, actually," he lied smoothly.

"Tokitatusu? He doesn't seem the trouble-making sort."

"Gareki."

"Oh dear. What is he on about now?"

"He's determined to work for Akari Dezart of all people."

Bizante shook his head as if _he_ were the disconcerted elder brother. "That man is a thorn in everyone's side. I can only imagine what he was like in law school."

"He was paradoxically arrogant and naïve. Insufferable in the extreme." In Hirato's defense, it was an accurate representation.

The older man stood and brushed himself off. "Insufferable is right. Pity Azana didn't manage to kill him," he said dismissively before making his way to the door. "It'd have made our lives much more manageable."

"Yes." Long fingers tightened on the edge of Hirato's desk with vehemence enough to turn his knuckles white. "Pity," he finally choked out, somehow managing to keep his hands from slipping around the other man's neck.

Bizante's words left the young attorney in a malaise all afternoon. For the first time in his distinguished career, he felt revulsion for his task. Yes, he'd defended the guilty before, but no one as repugnant as Azana. He wondered idly if he'd lost his taste for the entire enterprise. _Snap out of it before you turn into Akari_.

His concentration had just returned when his cell phone chimed.

 _[What would you like for dinner?]_ _He must be bored_ , Hirato concluded. But the charm of Akari's gesture mitigated some of his earlier rage. Most importantly, the blond was very much alive, despite Bizante's wishing it otherwise.

He smirked before typing out a reply. _[You.]_

An affronted prosecutor was no doubt sputtering to an empty room, vowing bloody murder. _[I'm not on the menu.]_

_[Then I've no appetite.]_

_[Fine. Starve.]_

He relented. _[There's steak in the fridge. I was hoping you'd cook.]_

_[Can do. Anything else?]_

_[Many, many things.]_ Akari didn't respond to the provocation. The brunet waited several moments before leaving a more incendiary message _. [You shouldn't tease like that, counselor. Particularly if you're not on the menu.]_

_[You've dulled, Hirato.]_

* * *

Akari stole from his room well after midnight. Although fatigued, he couldn't fall asleep. He circumambulated the apartment, following the play of soft lilac light as it filtered through the high windows. An inexplicable placidity washed over him as he watched a few lonely cars inch along Lake Shore Drive sixty floors below. _It's so peaceful up here._ He couldn't pinpoint what, precisely, compelled him to slink across the darkened living room towards Hirato's bedroom. And certainly he'd lost whatever semblance of sanity he had left when he slowly pushed the door ajar. It was dangerous to come within striking distance, he knew, particularly since Hirato had made his sexual intentions inescapably clear. Still, something about the way the other man's amethyst irises remained affixed to him during dinner had haunted him all evening. It was like the brunet couldn't get enough—like something obtained between them that transcended the anguish of heartbreak and the taint of betrayal.

 _What are you up to, you manipulative bastard? What are you really after?_ Carnality, definitely, but there was an instant tonight when violet met cerise without artifice or posturing. And if he thought about the reverence with which his host looked at him, he could almost believe that Hirato wanted more than conquest—that he wanted Akari _._

He peered inside in room, gaze immediately drawn to the figure sprawled on the bed. Pale skin, dark hair, and lithe limbs in a tangle of sheets and moonbeams. He was so breathtakingly beautiful. He'd always been. And therein lay the danger of their current arrangements. Akari needed to reclaim his life. Immediately.

"I could always tell when you were watching me while I slept," Hirato said, startling his visitor. Sleep imbued his rich voice with a roughness that made it all the more appealing.

The blond laughed quietly. "Could you?"

"Hmmm," he murmured in assent, turning over and resting his arms above his head, giving Akari an uninterrupted view of his trim chest and taut muscles. "You did it often enough that it became intuitive."

So he'd been found out? He thanked the night for hiding his resultant blush. "It was always amazing to me how innocent you looked, like you were completely harmless."

The defense attorney started in mock indignation. "That's mean, Akari. I am harmless."

"No, you're incorrigible." As he considered the untidy black hair, the long expanses of alabaster skin, and the fact that the other man slept in very little clothing, he could quite easily believe that Hirato was the devil.

A quirk of the lips and a steely glint accompanied the brunet's next words, "Maybe I am. Why don't you come here and we can test your theory?"

"Screw you, you immature jerk," he sighed in half-exasperation, ignoring the disappointment flaring in his chest.

"Oh, how I wish you would." At those words, the DA threw his hands up and made to leave. "Oh come on, you fell into that one," Hirato called out, infectious laughter trailing behind him as he stalked off to the guest room.

If only Hirato knew how excruciating it was to walk away, how Akari's fingertips burned with the desire to traverse every millimeter of his skin.


	11. Chapter 11

A week had passed since Akari moved into Hirato's penthouse, and in the interim, the two had fallen into a rote pattern of polite regard, guarded distance, and surreptitious glancing. While Akari would be loath to admit it, a mephitic tension had settled in the condo, oftentimes interrupting his dreams with thoughts of the most restless variety. He was certain Hirato could sense it as well; after all, it was difficult to miss the way those incredible indigo eyes lingered too long over dinner or strayed too far when they were supposed to be glued to the television screen.

It was unnerving, knowing that he was being visually undressed at every stray opportunity.

It was thrilling also, but he'd rather take another bullet before revealing _that_.

As a result, the prosecutor felt much like a coiled spring, ready to snap at the slightest provocation. Perhaps that's why his roommate's ceaseless teasing had ebbed lately. In fact, apart from the shameless ogling, Hirato hadn't made an overture towards Akari in three days—not since the night he invited the blond to bed. That he was keeping a count bothered the DA for reasons better left uninterrogated.

So, it was awfully surprising to wake at 3AM and find his ex-lover sitting atop his bed, looming over him with eyes glassy from excitement and lips quirked in a delicious leer.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," Hirato chirped. He looked supremely pleased with himself—that is, until he took a pillow to the face.

"Go away. I'm trying to sleep," Akari huffed and burrowed into the bedding.

"Sleep later. Come with me," the brunet said simply. There was a compelling sort of authoritativeness in that vibrant baritone. It _demanded_ compliance. And having been conditioned to obey, Akari acquiesced with little fuss. "Put some clothes on first."

It was as he was pulling a thick, woolen sweater over his head that he noticed it—the other man's stare fixated on the lingering damage traversing his chest. The corners of Hirato's mouth immediately turned down when seconds earlier they'd been curved in impish delight. Gloved fingers reached out before the defense attorney realized his error and retreated. He looked away, ostensibly intuiting that he'd crossed an unnamed line. "Sorry."

Akari resisted the urge to take his hand. Instead, he offered whatever modicum of comfort he could. "I don't think it's your fault. You know that, right?"

An uncommon sadness manifested in the other's tenor then, and the prosecutor struggled to remember the last time he'd heard his ex-lover sound so sorrowful. "Azana was freed because of me," Hirato whispered solemnly. "Try to mitigate the blame if you like, but I'll never forgive myself."

Akari nearly started at the revelation. It was rare for his companion to display any semblance of honesty, but to be so staggeringly forthwith was entirely without precedent. Even when they were together, Hirato had played his emotions close to the vest. Having no inkling of how to respond, the DA merely spoke the first words that materialized. "We'd still be enemies if it hadn't happened."

Breaths stilled as amethyst and cerise met under moonlight.

Surprisingly, it was the defense lawyer who broke the uncomfortable silence. "Get your coat. There's something I want you to see."

* * *

Despite the small fortune that Hirato had paid to live in Chicago's trendiest residence, the elevator didn't go all the way up. Eight flights of stairs stood between Akari and the rooftop, and he was uncertain of his ability to climb them—or rather, he was certain of his inability to climb them. He glanced sidelong at his companion, hoping that the conniving devil would have a change of heart. It was of no avail; Hirato merely grabbed his hand and pulled him along. "It'll be worth it, I promise."

Akari nodded gamely and marched forward, impressed by the efficacy of physical therapy. Three dozen stairs later, he found himself revising his assessment. Winded, sweaty, and just plain tired, the DA stopped to draw uneven, haggard breaths.

"Damnit," Hirato hissed before turning around. "I forgot that you're not jogging miles around Jackson Park anymore."

The prosecutor laughed between sharp inhales. "I still wouldn't take the steps."

"Let's go," the brunet offered. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize how taxing this would be for you."

How he yearned to turn back, to fall into bed, to rest. But the disappointment clouding Hirato's features caused a slight pull in his chest that had nothing to do with overexertion. "I'll be fine if we take it slow."

Biting gale force winds cut across them as they finally stepped out onto the roof. Akari shivered and pulled his coat tighter, now thankful for the body heat he'd worked up on the way. "I'm pretty sure this is trespassing," he called out, following his ex-lover to the fenced edge.

"It is. I picked the lock earlier," Hirato stated, completely unconcerned with the implications of his actions. "I wanted to be aloft this evening."

"For what?"

"Wait for it." There it was—that slightly-devious, enigmatic smirk, the one so impossibly alluring that Akari had once thrown caution to the wind and leaned across a library table to sample it. Of course, there'd been some round scolding by a scandalized librarian afterwards… and the two were unceremoniously ushered out for disrupting students' concentration… and then there was the fine… but it had been worth it, if only for benefit of such a memorable first kiss. _Hirato_ had been worth it—worth every measure of disruption in his perfectly compartmentalized life, every skipped exam review session, every exhausted moot court meeting, every drunken stumble home, every freezing hand-in-hand traipse through the heavy snow, every uncomfortably hot romp in a cramped summertime apartment. Every touch, every taste, everything. He'd been worth the heartbreak, even.

Twin rubies raked over the surreally quiet city hundreds of feet below while Akari's psyche was overrun with bittersweet old memories and frightening new longings.

Several minutes passed by unmarked. And then he felt it. Almost imperceptible at first, the ephemeral icy sting of a solitary snowflake landing on his cheek. Another. In twos and threes. Eventually, snow began falling in earnest, sticking to the silk of his hair and the wool of his coat. He held out a hand and watched the tiny jewels melt against pale skin, mesmerized as he'd always been.

"It's not the first snow," Hirato said. "I remember you like to be outside for that. You were in the hospital then, so this little rooftop escapade will have to suffice."

"I distinctly recall _you_ dragging _me_ outside for the first snow every year," the blond responded. "You claimed it was _cute_ that I loved snowfall."

"Some things never change," the defense attorney quipped.

 _No they don't,_ Akari conceded, closing his eyes and biting back the desperate urge to test Hirato's worth yet again. _They really don't._

"We shouldn't stay out here long," the brunet stated. "Iva will murder me if you catch so much as a cold."

"That's not much incentive for me to go inside, is it?" the DA countered mischievously.

"You know, I keep telling people that you're a mean-spirited, vengeful jerk, but no one believes me."

"I've developed a talent for duplicity."

"Clearly." They both laughed.

As Hirato brushed past on his way inside, Akari wrapped a stalling hand around his arm. The defense attorney stiffened slightly but said nothing further. "I haven't gone out for snowfall in a very long time, Hirato. Thank you for tonight."

Akari waited, but to his great disillusionment, an acknowledging nod was the only reply he received. _And some things_ do _change._

Later, he would wonder what, precisely, he'd been expecting from Hirato that night.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hirato never does anything without reason. Just, um, remember that, okay?


	12. Chapter 12

Hirato was certain that there was an instant, last night, on the rooftop, when Akari had invited him to make a move of the decidedly romantic variety. In terms of gestures, it had been small—a curl of graceful fingers around his arm, a subtle glint in the eyes. But those fingers had stilled too long, and it was solicitation that lingered behind opaline orbs.

As a result, the better part of his morning was spent fantasizing about Chicago's most uncompromised Assistant DA in a range of compromising positions. The mere image of black silk cords bound around Akari's alabaster limbs was enough to consider having lunch (and much more) in an uptown bar rather than at his desk. Although gifted with a near superhuman capacity for self-restraint, he'd felt his resolve crumble when leveled with the kind of prurient stare he hadn't seen in ages.

He was reaching for his car keys when he felt it—a twisting, knotty sensation in his stomach that had become more discernible of late. Guilt. Almost automatically, his hands found their way back to his keyboard, their hunger for touch diminished presently. But then came the needling voice that he generally relegated to the recesses of his psyche. _Why abstain from sex, hmmm? It's not like you're getting any at home._

Ignoring that he'd evidently started correlating the blond with home, he addressed his conscience (if it was indeed his conscience). _I could, though. If I wanted, I could have Akari pressed against my bedroom windows with the whole city in potential audience._

Then why hadn't he availed himself of the opportunity last night?

Why indeed. In his fantasies Akari hadn't been sporting a scar across his chest, he hadn't been breathless at the (admittedly) strenuous exertion, he hadn't been broken. And as spectacularly as Hirato failed at it, protecting his lover was his primary responsibility. Not wanting to mangle the other man was a noble enough motivation for maintaining his distance, he reasoned.

He preferred _not_ to admit how crushing it would be to wake to a regretful bedmate—to a bedmate who abhorred himself for what they'd done.

_Some hurts don't heal, remember._

Best not to compound those with new hurts.

That being said, he could not live his life as though he were in a committed relationship. Akari would move out after the trial, and what would the brunet do then? Would he pine away as the DA put together his demolished life without Hirato in tow? Would he wait for the prosecutor to come to him? Would he subsist on fantasies alone?

_I can't stop living._

And before he could stop himself, he strode out the door, keys in hand and predatory gleam in his eyes.

* * *

"Come on, you incompetent fool, pick up," Akari muttered. In all fairness, Yogi was neither incompetent nor a fool, but the Assistant DA had very little time to spare. Ryoushi left for lunch precisely at noon each day. As such, Akari could only accomplish real work within that hour. That Yogi hadn't answered at 12:04 prompted the blond to utter a string of unseemly curses under his breath.

"Akari? Hello!" A bright, lilting voice finally came through the line. "How are you feeling? How's therapy? How's _Hirato_?" The barrage of inquiries came flying out of his deputy's mouth in a single breath.

"Tell me what's going on with the Azana case." In contrast, Akari's tone was terse, purposeful.

"I-I-I can't do th-that," the younger blond faltered. "Ryoushi told me not to tell you anything."

"Damnit." A fist slammed against rich mahogany as Akari endeavored, in his own way, to impart upon his subordinate just how important it was that he glean the details of the case. Perhaps if he sounded angry enough, the youth would cave. He wondered briefly when he'd started manipulating people and attributed this newfound propensity to the conniving reprobate he lived with. "Ryoushi is not your direct supervisor. I am."

"You're also a witness. I don't know if I should divulge that information."

Akari bristled for effect. "We are not the CIA. What do you mean _divulge_ that information?"

The jittery attorney refused to relent, although he did seem rather contrite. "I-I-I'm sorry, sir. You're not supposed to be working. You're supposed to be recovering."

He had no choice; Ryoushi had seen to that. _Damn that old man_. "Fine," he huffed in defeat. "But you're in charge; I've already told the DA that. You're going to need a research assistant, though. Why don't you tell Gareki to do the heavy lifting?"

"M-m-me? Are you sure?" Yogi sounded, if at all possible, more insecure and skittish than was his wont.

"You'll do fine." And for the first time that morning, Akari's lips turned up in a half-smile. "I have faith in your skills," he said, knowing with unfailing certitude that his second-in-command had gone mottled scarlet in a combination of embarrassment and pride.

"Th-thanks." Yogi paused. "About Gareki…"

"I know. You're not keen on him given how he's treated you, but he's sharp and hardworking, and we're terribly understaffed."

A few moments passed in absolute silence.

"Does it get easier, Akari?" Uncommon (and unbecoming) sadness manifested in the young man's tenor then. "To spend so much time with someone you were once involved with?"

Having always been the forthright sort, he opted for candor. "No. It doesn't, but our line of work requires some sacrifices."

"It requires a lot more than that."

* * *

Hirato took his time coming home. He knew Akari would be waiting, and since the brunet had not texted his dinner preference, he knew too that the other man would worry.

_How like him to be anxious for the undeserving._

The charismatic defense attorney rarely indulged in self-pity, but if any evening warranted it, tonight would certainly qualify. Satisfying his concupiscence had been gratifying, physically at least. It had also precipitated a deep feeling of remorse—not unlike the feeling he'd spared Akari by _not_ taking him to bed. Cognizant that his nonpareil faculties for dissembling were ineffectual against his damnably perceptive roommate, he lumbered back to the apartment, wishing, for the first time, that he'd not added to his long list of sexual conquests.

As expected, Akari sensed something was amiss. "What's wrong?" he asked, making no effort to hide his apprehension.

"Why would something be wrong?"

"Don't insult my intelligence, Hirato. You know I hate that."

That was the most infuriating thing about his houseguest. Perspicacious he may be, but he was thoroughly lacking in tact or finesse. Thus, it wasn't entirely unexpected that he'd had gone the direct route.

 _He needs to move out. Immediately._ Hirato saw no escape from the conversation likely to ensue, so he ventured to beat the man at his own game. "It's your fault, you know."

The blond suddenly looked like he'd swallowed something incredibly bitter. "What have _I_ done?"

Hirato smirked at the affront clouding his lover's expression. Indignant Akari was so adorable. "You, counselor, are the most excruciatingly alluring individual to ever grace these rooms. And believe me when I say the competition was plentiful."

Akari's mouth dropped open for several seconds before he recomposed himself. He cleared his throat awkwardly, and in characteristic fashion, proceeded to apologize. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't realize."

"Now who's insulting whose intelligence?" the brunet inquired quietly, violet irises affixed to his former paramour with atypical sincerity. "Are you telling me that you _didn't_ issue an invitation last night?"

The prosecutor sighed wearily and scrubbed his hands through his hair. Strawberry blond strands fell haphazardly into his eyes, making Hirato's pulse speed slightly. He then paced the kitchen, ostensibly at his wit's end and likely at a complete loss in terms of dealing with such an honest and uncomfortably blunt Hirato. Still, Akari rarely deceived, so his next words were rather predictable. "Yes, I did. I shouldn't have. But for a few minutes, I forgot that we've become twisted, disillusioned versions of our old selves." He deflected his gaze, crystalline irises following the parquet patterns along the floor. "I wanted—no—I want—you too." Akari's eyes met his again. "I always have."

In lieu of gloating, Hirato nodded, knowing precisely what it must cost to own as much. He attempted to conjure a way out of the current impasse. Sexual tension, at minimum, obtained between them, and given their current living arrangements, it was a dangerous situation, particularly since he'd vowed to keep his hands off the other man.

But Akari had made no such promises with regard to _his_ hands, apparently. He walked forward and bracketed Hirato's hips, head bowed and lips a tight line. There he stilled, waiting to be rebuffed. Finding no rejection forthcoming, measured, deliberate fingers slid under the brunet's suit jacket and up his chest, etching fire in their wake. "What are you doing?" Hirato whispered, the shock manifest in his tenor.

"Everything I ought not." And with that, the prosecutor leaned in, reservedly at first, giving his mark ample time to resist. But his when his lips found Hirato's, they did so with intent, soft and yielding as they'd ever been, but also passionate and a trace demanding. He shouldn't return the overture, the brunet knew, but having this man—the one to whom he felt forever bound—pressed against him clouded his higher functioning and sent expectancy coursing through him like conflagration, searing him like no one he'd had before. Akari's agile, searching fingers tangled in raven-colored hair, their desperate grip eliciting a needful moan.

Labored breaths mingled as they parted and two sets of hooded irises simmered with unadulterated _want_. The contact was nothing short of electric. Hirato's arm wound around the other's waist, drawing him closer before slanting their lips together again. He pushed the blond against the kitchen counter, one hand trapping him in place while the other wandered unchecked. Empty pots were sent clattering to the floor in frantic pursuit of friction. Neither noticed. Heedless that things had escalated beyond his control, Hirato wedged a knee between his captive's legs, earning himself a sharp inhale of breath and a playful nip of teeth at his jawline.

Why was it that Akari knew exactly how to touch, how to send him careening beyond sanity without fail?

Only when he felt cool fingertips reaching for his belt buckle did his cognitive abilities return. Visions of this afternoon's tryst flooded his mind, and with them came the recognition that he was handling his lover with sullied hands—knowledge enough to stem his desire. "Wait," he murmured. "Don't."

Akari pulled away, confusion flitting across his features. "What is it?"

"We can't," he stated.

"Relax. I won't ask for anything more than the night."

"It's not that, Akari. I don't want to hurt you."

"You mean my injury?" Akari laughed. "I'll be fine."

"I don't mean your injury," Hirato said with finality. "I won't have you like this."

There was no need to explain. Akari understood perfectly without further elucidation. "I should have guessed," he said, tone suddenly anemic. "When you came home, you looked exactly as you did the morning you told me you'd cheated." He walked away, taking some of his warmth with him. Barely-perceptible tremors wracked the DA's frame, betraying the fact that he was livid with himself.

Hirato's guilt doubled. _A kiss, and you hate yourself already. Imagine if we hadn't stopped._ "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" the prosecutor queried, trying and failing to conceal his self-recrimination. "We're not together anymore. You owe me nothing, especially not fidelity."

"You hate to be touched with dirty hands," Hirato offered. "And I didn't come clean."

Akari smiled bitterly. "Even you couldn't have predicted that I would throw myself at you."

"True. Not that I'm not complaining," he assuaged. "Please, throw yourself at me whenever you like." A bemused chuckle—all for show. He certainly did not feel jovial; he felt traitorous.

"And we're back to our regularly scheduled programming…" the blond said drolly—but there was a fleeting sparkle in his irises that hadn't been there minutes before.

"Your recent actions suggest that you do, in fact, enjoy my teasing, though you pretend otherwise."

"Teasing?" Akari was incredulous. "That stunt you just pulled with your tongue goes far beyond teasing!"

"If I didn't know any better, counselor, I'd say you were disappointed."

A ghost of a grin danced upon the DA's lips as banter commenced in earnest. "Thank you, Hirato."

"For what?" He was truly perplexed now.

"For coming clean."

Ah, he had done that, hadn't he? Without meaning to, even. Astounding it was—how gaining even an iota of Akari's trust was ample recompense for what doubtless would have been mind-blowing sex. _Some hurts don't heal_ , Hirato reminded himself. _But sometimes they don't have to._ "Akari, about my cheating…" he began.

"Yes?"

"I didn't—"

It was an unfortunate coincidence that the doorbell chimed just then.

"You can let me in, Hirato," Iva called from outside. "I'm not here to sell anything."

* * *

Dinner was a pleasant affair, thanks to Akari's intervention. The blond had made himself fully at home, shooing Hirato out of his own kitchen when the saucepan began to smoke foully. After a few rounds of excellent wine and good company, late evening found the trio watching the 9:00 news from the sofa. It would have been a perfect night were it not for the special report.

Much like Hirato had predicted, this evening's news was rife with Azana's allegations of corruption in the DA's Office, Ryoushi and Akari being favorite targets. He cringed inwardly, recognizing that he'd contributed to the accusations being flung in his paramour's direction. In fact, he'd planned on telling Akari everything—that he was defending Azana (but definitely _not_ that he welcomed defeat… although the genius prosecutor would probably suspect it anyway), that his legal advice included blaming Chicago's District Attorney's Office for rampant obstruction of justice, that he was responsible for the damage to Akari's otherwise immaculate reputation.

The truth would surface eventually; it was preferable that it come from him.

He only wished for more time. Akari would hate him, he guessed. That's why he'd taken the blond to the rooftop last night—to leave him with one good memory before their domestic idyll came crashing down. He hadn't anticipated this afternoon's kiss. Afterwards, Hirato had even sought to tell Akari all about his indiscretion of many years ago—to forge an understanding, if nothing more. He was certain that the blond would be willing to indulge him on that score. _Too late to explain myself now. I'll be lucky if he doesn't crucify me._

His ruminations were interrupted by irritated scoffing. "What unsupported drivel," the DA spat.

"You don't seem very concerned, though," Iva replied. "Aren't you worried about your reputation?"

The prosecutor laughed—a sharp, hollow bark. "Worried? I invite an investigation. I've nothing to hide."

"But it will be troublesome," Hirato interjected.

"Very," Akari admitted. "Still, it will clear the DA's Office of any suspicion. Who knows? Maybe they'll discover that City Hall has been interfering in Chicago PD's investigations with bribery and threats. At the very least, it will prove that Azana is a liar."

Both Iva and Hirato were stunned at the revelation.

"How'd you know about City Hall?" Iva asked.

"This is me we're talking about. Do you suppose there's much going on upstairs that I don't know about? I've been wanting to charge that bastard Palnedo for years, but there's no solid evidence against him."

The brunet's lips twitched. There was evidence, alright. His unassailable houseguest merely lacked the duplicity needed to secure it.

"If City Hall is the corrupt one, why would Azana draw attention to himself by levying blame at you?" Iva queried. "It doesn't make sense."

At that, the blond's expression became thoughtful, pensive. "I don't know. I suppose it's an effective means of supporting his self-defense claim; it sounds like the sort of nonsense Hirato would contrive."

 _There's my cue._ Hirato cleared his throat. "That's because I did contrive it."

Akari nearly choked. "What are you saying?"

He sighed heavily. "I'm defending Azana."

"You haven't _told_ him yet, Hirato?" Iva inquired, eyes narrowed and tone pure venom. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I'm telling him now."

A staggered prosecutor stared as though seeing him for the first time. "Why would you defend him?"

"Because he's a client, because it's my job."

Akari shot to his feet. An enraged growl materialized in his voice as he leveled his host with the kind of withering glower that would send half his staff running. "You _lied_ to me. You've been working for him all this time."

"No," Hirato stated calmly. "I didn't lie. I withheld information."

"A lie of omission, then." Akari was just bordering on this edge of murderous. "Don't you understand? I've been under the impression that I wasn't involved in either side of the Azana case."

"How are you involved now? You knew nothing until five minutes ago." Admittedly, it was rather endearing that his interlocutor was more vexed about the case than about Hirato's defending the man who shot him—frustrating, to be sure, but endearing nonetheless.

In the midst of raised voices, Iva unfolded herself from the couch and gathered her things. "Well," she said sheepishly. "I see you have some things you need to discuss, so I'll be going now…"

"No, Iva. Stay," the prosecutor ordered. "I want a witness to this conversation."

"Actually, I think you should go," Hirato said politely. "My apologies for ending our evening so abruptly. I'll see you at work."

She shrugged apologetically and glanced warily at an irate blond. "I'm sorry, Akari. Clearly, you two need to talk."

An accusing glare wavered not one whit as the door closed behind their visitor. Cerise orbs bored into amethyst with hellish intensity.

"I know how this looks—" Hirato started.

"To think I was beginning to trust you again," Akari hissed. Without another word, he stalked off towards his bedroom, completely oblivious to the fact that he'd shattered whatever travesty of a heart Hirato possessed.

* * *

The prosecutor was already packing by the time his host stepped into the guest room. "You're leaving?" the brunet asked, tone uncharacteristically subdued. "I'd planned to tell you all along, you know. Truly."

Akari stifled a sigh; naturally, the other man would ill-understand why it was imperative that he go. "It would be unforgivably unprofessional of me to stay, regardless of your disingenuousness."

He stiffened when he registered Hirato's presence immediately behind him. "And if I don't care about professionalism?"

 _Why do you do this? Why do you make it so damn hard to walk away?_ Hirato leaned his head against the back of Akari's, unearthing the myriad sentiments that the DA had failed at burying. The blond closed his eyes, imagining the warmth of the other's bare skin pressed against his, of shared breaths and greedy kisses, of touches carved so deeply into his bones that they could be felt years later. He'd never wanted anything more than he wanted Hirato. "But I care," he whispered.

"Don't go," Hirato said simply. And without further entreaty, the headiness of proximity diminished, leaving Akari a bit disoriented.

"You don't see a problem with the prosecution's witness shacking up with the defense attorney?"

"Everyone thinks you're under police protection."

He massaged his nose, incapable of hiding his exasperation this time. Didn't the shameless protozoan before him _get it_? "It's not about appearances. How can the accused receive a fair trial under these circumstances?"

At those words, something changed, something intangible and almost undetectable. Hirato's affect turned sharper, menacing. The subtle shift was so quick that Akari almost shrank back. "Fair trial?" the brunet inquired, a lethal glint in his eyes. "Do you think I give a _damn_ about Azana?"

Akari gasped when the implications registered. "Are you going to throw the case?"

"So what if I am?" he asked, gaze still hardened.

"If you are, then I am most certainly leaving," the DA explained. "I would love nothing more than to see Azana go to jail, but I want it done fairly, _legally._ Don't you see? This is bigger than me or you; the system has to work."

A quirk suddenly appeared on the brunet's lips, but as many times as Akari had seen that mouth curve in mischief, something about it seemed like masquerade just then, like an inordinate amount of effort was being expended in the act. "You're bargaining, counselor. That means there's room for negotiation."

"What? What are you on about?" Akari queried, confused both by Hirato's words and the second turnaround in his comportment in as many minutes.

"You said _if_ I was planning to throw the case, you'd leave." His smirk lengthened. "But I never admitted to such a thing."

Akari grew grave. "You don't have to. It sounds exactly like the sort of thing you'd do."

"I'll prove it to you."

"I'd like to see that."

Hirato began to pace, long legs slinking slowly across the bedroom with a fluid grace that caused Akari's mind to wander to places prohibited to it long ago. "I can only compromise Azana's defense by sharing my _tactics_ with the prosecution team, right? Everything else—evidence, witness testimony, and police reports—all of that is available to both sides, correct?"

"I went to law school too, you know," the blond huffed.

The defense lawyer smiled indulgently. "So it's a game of stratagem. As long as I don't give away my strategy, Azana gets a fair trial, right?"

Akari thought for a moment. In a world of ideal, _professional_ attorneys, extended access to a material witness would not give one side an advantage provided that the same witness were available to the other side. But this was his scheming bastard of an ex-lover in question, and the brilliant prosecutor knew better than to trust him blindly. Yet something kept him from zipping up his suitcase and walking out the door—the knowledge that Hirato had once traded Akari for success. Jeopardizing the most important case of his career would not only cost him his partnership at Bizante and Associates, but likely his Illinois Bar membership as well. And there was no reason for Hirato to now trade success for Akari… unless…. _unless he has feelings for me._ Hope bubbled in his chest, inciting instantaneous daydreams of a relationship, a partner—at last, a home. He immediately smothered it. Whatever lingered between them—lust, mutual concern, residual affection—it wasn't sentiment enough to build a future upon. Or was it? "Good. Fine. That settles it, then," he said in one go. "I'll stay."

Hirato looked quite like he'd been slapped. Obviously, he'd prepared himself for a more difficult battle of wits. "That was easy. Most people wouldn't buy that."

"I'm not most people," Akari said. Even so, he could _feel_ the weight of lies clinging to them. If he had retained any shred of integrity, he'd have left. But Akari's ethics had never extended to the irresistible rake before him. Contrary to popular consensus, the DA did not have the market cornered on probity. Or maybe, he felt something as they kissed tonight—something too familiar to be coincidental. Maybe he wanted to see if the other man felt it too. Maybe an answer was worth the forfeiture of his principles.

Maybe, just maybe, Hirato wasn't as untrustworthy as Akari alleged.

"You most definitely are not," the defense attorney agreed before heading towards the door.

"Hey, Hirato," Akari called to his back. _I have to know what's happening between us._

"Hmmm?" he asked without turning around.

"I'm glad." The words sounded resigned. "Glad that you won't hazard everything you've worked so hard for." A hesitation. "At least we didn't break up for nothing."

Hirato forced out a laugh as his hand tightened on the door frame, but he did not issue a correction. "Right. Not for nothing."

* * *

By the time he'd returned to his own bedroom, Hirato's chest had grown tight enough to make his breathing shallow. _You fucking idiot,_ he berated himself. _How could you do that?_ He'd once plotted to win the blond back. Akari had just given him a golden opportunity. So why had he frittered it away? _I wasn't prepared. I'd resolved to let him go_ , he justified. Truth be told, it would be terribly disadvantageous to make a confession now. Akari would move out if he thought that there were serious feelings between them; he wouldn't want to compromise the case. Yet that wasn't why he'd backed away from the possibility with such alacrity. If he were honest with himself (and he usually wasn't), he'd have conceded that he'd been caught off guard and instinctually fled from the other man. Instead of making himself vulnerable, he ran. Like he did back then. Having done just that for several years now, it seemed his psyche was automatically conditioned to bolt.

Of course he loved Akari. He'd plotted an intricate revenge scheme because Azana dared to harm him, right? He was willing to lose his very livelihood. So why was it so difficult to confess the oh-so-goddamn-obvious truth?

 _Fuck._ A tightly-curled fist slammed against the dresser. _How will I fix_ this?

* * *

Akari sank into the bed, head in his hand and heart crumbling into a million splinters, each slicing deeper than the last. _Why did I expect anything different? Hirato hasn't changed._

For a moment, he was sure he'd read all the evidence correctly: Hirato's incessant presence at the hospital during his recovery; his perceptible tenseness every time Azana was mentioned; his willingness to put up with the world's most disagreeable houseguest; his uncharacteristic honesty about taking someone else to bed. Apparently, Akari had been seeing only what he wanted to see this whole time. Hirato didn't love him; he desired him and cared enough to ensure his safety, but that was the extent of the other man's feelings. He could have raged mercilessly at himself. Instead, he coolly decided to base all future actions on the actual evidence: Hirato's confession, or rather, his lack of confession. Wishful thinking was a hazardous inclination, so he resolved to dispense with it altogether. Only one query remained: _How will I endure living here?_


	13. Chapter 13

Akari sat in the back of Jiki's unmarked black sedan, marveling at how the tinted windows managed to turn the mildly overcast wintertime sky into a downright gloomy expanse of unbroken grey. The gathering storm contributed further to the Assistant District Attorney's ill humor. Physical therapy had been a protracted exercise in frustration. He'd struggled to be stronger, to jog faster, to push himself just a little farther than before. He'd failed so spectacularly that his therapist ended their session early. Surly and spent, Akari absentmindedly watched the city flit by. He was quite looking forward to going hom—to Hirato's place—and consigning the whole damn session to oblivion.

This afternoon's only silver lining came from Jiki, who appeared to have sensed the DA's foul mood. He mercifully kept his silence as he drove his charge back uptown.

"I wish all this protection weren't necessary," Akari said. "I'm sure you've better things to do with your time."

Jiki laughed good-naturedly, but he did not equivocate—one of the many reasons Akari respected the young police inspector. "True. There are about a dozen cases that need my immediate attention, and Tsukumo is none too pleased with the extra hours I'm putting in. But Eva will entrust you to no one else."

"Tsukumo?"

"My wife."

"Of course," Akari replied. "Would you please pass along my apologies then?"

"She'll want more than that, Mr. Dezart. I'm afraid you'll have to join us for dinner and convey your apologies in person."

The prosecutor smiled in spite of himself. "I'd be delighted."

It was the thought of bringing Hirato along as a date that finally forced his lips into a tight line. _There'll be no more dinners with him once the case is over._ And if the realization caused his chest to squeeze in an aching fashion, he considered it the result of his recent strenuous exercise rather than entertaining any fanciful notions of heartache over someone whose feelings for him were superficial at best.

 _Speaking of case…._ His took his phone from his pocket and dialed Yogi. It rang out several times, but his generally-reliable deputy did not answer. "Damnit Yogi," he cursed, more in an attempt to wrest the images of his ex-lover from his mind than any genuine exasperation with his subordinate.

* * *

Yogi was startled by the unexpected vibration. He fished his phone out of his jacket and winced at the number on the screen before again turning his attention to his interlocutor. "I'm sorry. I thought I'd turned it off," he said, doing so and pocketing the phone once more.

"It's no problem," Hirato said pleasantly, taking another sip of Mexicana and savoring the warm, rich flavor _—_ bittersweet, with a spicy note that lent it a trace of sharpness. _Hmmm. Tastes like Akari._ No wonder he'd been addicted all these years. He leaned back in the booth and regarded the young man thoughtfully. "Was it Akari?"

The blond nodded. "He'll start putting the pieces together if I don't call him back soon."

"How much does he suspect?" Trying to escape the Assistant DA's attention was like organizing a mob hit—clandestine meetings, hushed tones, and duplicitous performances had become staples in his life since the night he'd convinced Akari to stay. Hirato wasn't a fool; he knew that the other man had not been fully swayed by his vague reassurances. Any remotely intelligent individual would have residual doubt, and the prosecutor was far too incisive to fall for so cheap a trick. He knew too that Akari would be observing him very closely for any sign of trickery, hence this out-of-way meeting with Yogi. What he couldn't figure out, however, was why the blond was persuaded to stay at all. Surely, he had to recognize that Hirato would exact a particularly painful revenge on Azana. _Well, maybe not._ It's not like the brunet had owned any real feelings, after all. If anything, Akari was probably berating himself for that ill-timed kiss. _Ah, that kiss._ The defense attorney's mind drifted lazily to sensation of the other's lips against his, the play of taut muscles under the fabric of his shirt, and the faint scent of ginger and citrus that had been driving him mad with desire since law school orientation.

"Hirato? Are you listening?" Yogi fixed him with an impatient stare. "You know, my workload has doubled since Akari's been gone, so if you're going to waste my time, then…"

Really, Yogi was adorable when imperious and commanding. He could see why his brother had been so captivated. "I'm sorry. Please continue," he replied with an elegant flourish of his hand.

"I was saying that I don't think Akari suspects us, but I think Palnedo's right-hand-man Uro might if we keep digging."

"What makes you say that?" Hirato asked.

Yogi swallowed thickly. "Well, I've been working in Akari's office since I'm in charge of the Azana case. Someone keeps calling and hanging up."

That certainly got his attention. "Do you think you're in danger?"

"I think they're meant for Akari. Still, I have no intention of condescending to cowardly threats." And there it was, that argentine gleam alighting lavender irises. A mere trace of menace that left Hirato with no doubt that Yogi was more than capable of standing firm in his assertion. "We move forward as planned," the youth said, leaving no room for argument.

"Let me know if you want to arrange some security. Eva's brother Jiki will be happy to help."

"Thanks, but I can take care of myself."

 _I'm sure you can._ "Just keep it in mind. Now tell me, does the information I collected correlate with yours?"

The blond cleared his throat. "It does. I looked through all our records to make sure that the DA's Office was clean. Neither Akari nor Ryoushi have ever dropped a case that seemed to benefit Palnedo and City Hall. Any such cases were not tried through our office; they were sent to the City Prosecutor's Office."

Hirato nodded, not expecting anything different.

"But that tells us nothing about Azana—what he knows, and more importantly, what he doesn't know. We need something to pin on him, something that will implicate all of City Hall. The plan won't work if he knows _everything_ his superiors get up to," Yogi continued.

The plan had been elegant in its simplicity. Yogi and Hirato would work together to find evidence of corruption that _looked_ like it could come from Akari's office but had in fact come from Palnedo's. At the trial, then, said evidence would initially be presented against Akari, lending credence to Azana's plea of self defense. Hirato would then unassumingly talk Azana into a corner, thereby incriminating his own client. Eventually, the very same evidence would indict Azana instead of Akari. _Azana goes to jail, and Akari comes away from all this looking like a proper martyr for justice._ Truly, sometimes his brilliance stunned even him.

The problem, of course, was finding corruption the Deputy Mayor knew nothing about. Well, that and staying off Akari's radar.

"We'll find something," Hirato said. "There's no way Palnedo completely trusts a slimy bastard like Azana. We should go through the City Prosecutor's cases too. You'll have access to their files, right?"

"I can get them." Yogi smirked. "Gareki is quite an accomplished hacker."

Hirato groaned in resignation. "Of course he is."

"So, how do we compare our findings with what Azana knows?"

Twin rhinestones narrowed to violet slits, conveying in no uncertain terms Hirato's ire. "Leave Azana to me."

The deputy DA's dark laugh could rival that of his companion. "Gladly. But remember I owe him one."

Hirato raised his glass in acknowledgment. "Will you stay for lunch? Gareki is supposed to be joining me."

Then, and only then, did the young attorney bear even a passing resemblance to his tremulous self. "N-n-no thanks," he stammered. "I-I should get back to work."

"You shouldn't predicate your actions upon another. Even if you _were_ involved with them. You're allowed to have lunch with me if you like," the brunet informed matter-of-factly. "Gareki can get over it if he's uncomfortable."

"Pardon me if I don't take life advice from a man who's prepared to fritter away a brilliant career all for the sake of revenge," Yogi quipped in a manner uncannily reminiscent of Akari.

"That's different," said Hirato.

"How? You're predicating your life upon another, too… and besides that, you're risking so much," the younger said. "Akari wouldn't want you to do this, you know."

"I know, Yogi. But I have much to atone for."

The younger man merely shook his head and gathered his things. "Get some sleep, Hirato. You look exhausted," he suggested before making his way towards the restaurant's exit.

* * *

 _I look exhausted?_ Hirato wondered while driving home, rather annoyed that his over-exertion was so visible. He was eagerly looking forward to putting the Azana case behind him; it was leaching him of any extra energy… and self-restraint, in a roundabout way. Just this morning, he'd nearly attacked Akari when he walked in on the man in a temptingly disheveled state of under-dress. _Honestly, he should keep his bedroom door locked,_ he thought, ignoring how irrational his cogitation had become. _If I were a lesser man, Akari would have been well and duly had by now._ It wasn't that he was opposed to fucking the blond senseless. It was that he'd prefer not to deal with the fallout of just such fucking. They'd come too far for their delicate—friendship—to be rent apart by one careless night.

And then he heard it, the needling voice he tried to banish to the outer darkness of his consciousness (which invariably took on the voice of his elder brother): _So what are you_ really _afraid of? That he'll leave, or that he'll stay?_

"Fuck you, Tokitatsu," he muttered to an empty car.

Realizing that perhaps Yogi was right, that he _was_ exhausted, Hirato resolved to go home and get some sleep before Akari returned from physical therapy. Maybe not having the DA slumbering next door would allay his fitful dreams.

He'd just returned home and placed his briefcase on his work desk when a knock sounded on the front door. _So much for sleep._ Assuming he'd find Eva on the other side, he opened it without any further inquiry.

"Surprised to see me, I bet," Tsukitachi said, a sly grin splitting his lips.

 _Shit._ "You don't usually make housecalls," Hirato retorted smoothly, leading the other man into his office. "What's the occasion?"

"Akari Dezart."

 _Shit, shit, shit._ "Ah," he said, wondering how much, precisely, his interlocutor had discovered. "What about him?"

"There's no need to be so circumspect, Hirato," the red-haired man responded, "Eva told me everything. Well, almost everything."

" _Eva_ did?"

"But she didn't tell _you_ everything, it seems. We're dating." A smug sort of smile worked its way across Tsukitachi's face.

Hirato raised an impressed brow. "You lucky bastard."

The other man tittered in delight before growing grave. "I'll save that story for later. I just wanted to give you a friendly head's up."

"About what?"

A frustrated sigh. "I know you well enough to know what you're doing with the Azana case."

"I have no idea what you mean," Hirato dissembled, more to prove a point than to effect any real deceit.

"Right. Understood." Tsukitachi nodded. "Just know that Bizante has been asking questions."

"What sorts of questions?" _That_ was worrying. It wouldn't do to be fired before the case was won—or lost, as it were.

"Nothing too suspicious—not yet, anyway. But he's been asking about your law school days. As far as he knows, though, you and Assistant District Attorney Dezart loathed each other back then too."

 _Good. I still have time before he learns the truth._ "I see. Is there anything else?"

Tsukitachi smiled broadly, tossing an impish wink in his friend's direction. "Just one more thing. Are you sleeping with the enemy, Hirato?"

"No," he said with too much vehemence.

"Do you want to?"

The defense attorney stood from his desk and gestured to the office door. "Get out."

Tsukitachi nearly doubled over in laughter. "You do, don't you?" he managed between breaths. "I can't _believe_ you're pining after the man who's made your professional life a living hell; I thought you'd be less susceptible to pesky human emotions..."

"If you don't leave now, I swear, I will bury you alongside Azana," Hirato deadpanned, a pitch-perfectly cordial expression on his face.

"Fine, fine." The redhead put his hands up in a show of conciliation and made for the front door. Before stepping outside, he looked over his shoulder and said, "Be careful. Bizante didn't reach such heights without ruthlessness. He's rich, he's powerful, and he's got too much to lose."

 _So do I._ "I will. I promise."

Only after he heard the front door close did he register the steady staccato of footfall echoing across the living room and towards his office. Immediately, his heart froze, suspended in his throat. _Akari._

* * *

Akari crossed the threshold and leaned against a bookshelf, arms crossed over his chest and eyes afire with unmitigated fury.

"I didn't realize you were at home," Hirato said warily.

"Apparently not."

"How was physical therapy?"

The DA refrained from throttling the man, but only just. _How like him to ask about therapy_. "It was cut short. Obviously."

"Obviously," the brunet muttered, ostensibly looking for a way out of the current impasse.

"I suppose you're going to tell me that you haven't been lying," Akari hissed, voice a dangerous murmur.

Surprisingly, Hirato countered with candor. "No. I lied. I knew you wouldn't approve of my designs, so I didn't tell you about it," he answered, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing heavily. To be fair, he did look contrite, and he'd certainly been unusually haggard of late. Maybe being a manipulative bastard was taking its toll.

Somewhere in the part of his brain that wasn't hijacked by anger, Akari almost felt pity for the shameless reprobate. But pity was remarkably easy to smother under disappointment. _And here I thought you were capable of change,_ he thought viciously. "Stop," he ordered, tenor leaving no quarter for negotiation. "Let it go."

"No," Hirato said shortly. "You can hate me if you must, Akari, but I'm seeing this through."

"Why are you doing this? You're going to get fired for sure, and you'd be lucky to escape without being dis-barred," the blond queried, voice quivering with apprehension. Didn't the amoebic fool before him understand the gravity of the situation? Hirato could be sued for malpractice; he could be arrested, even.

Then, something broke between them, like the shattering of a looking glass, laying waste to defenses that had stood for years.

"You're something else, you know. After everything that's happened, you still think that I'm in it for the status. How much evidence to the contrary would suffice, _counsel_?" the brunet spat. Hirato never got visibly angry; his personal brand of wrath was the deathly cold and calculating kind. At that moment, however, he seemed quite prepared to punch his wall, or at least upend the desk. He paced the office, long strides imbued with lethal purpose. Akari had never seen him so tempestuous; it was frightening, and particularly so when plum-hued eyes leveled on him in accusation.

"You're jumping to conclusions. What I meant is that it seems rather foolish to cast aside everything you've worked so hard for. I don't agree with your philosophy, but your skills have always staggered me."

The defense attorney didn't seem mollified in the slightest. "Aren't you supposed to be some sort of crack genius? Funny, because you've missed the mark twice in a row now." The words were a growl.

Akari started to leave. "Right. Fine. You're going after him because of some inherent masochism, I suppose." He whirled around and walked away, only to find himself slammed against a wall, Hirato's hands squeezing his upper arms with unprecedented force.

"I'm doing this because he dared to lay a hand on what is mine," the brunet snarled.

Akari was rendered speechless by the assertion.

"Get it now? Possession and ownership are two different things; they taught us that our first year. I don't need to have you to claim you. So make no mistake, Akari. You've been mine all this time. You _are_ mine. Mine to hurt, mine to lose, mine to avenge, and mine to lo—"

Doubtless, he'd have gone on enumerating the countless ways in which Akari belonged to him had his tongue not been made inutile by an atypically demonstrative blond. Hirato's grip loosened in shock, freeing Akari's hands to tangle forcefully in his hair. The prosecutor hooked a leg over the other man's hips, pulling them closer together. Heat built up beneath his clothes, a scorching fever that would not be satisfied with anything less than the sensation of skin against skin. Maybe if he were kissing anyone other than Hirato, he could stop himself before things spun wildly out of control. But no one had ever made him want with such white-hot intensity as Hirato, no one compromised his analytical ability or made him as disoriented and insecure as the irresistible rake who was now returning his kiss. So when nimble fingers brushed along the waistband of his slacks, Akari knew that the only place left to go was the bedroom.

Hirato, on the other hand, became uncharacteristically hesitant. "We don't have to do this." Clearly, the defense attorney's body was operating without the permission of his brain; clever hands had already slipped beneath Akari's shirt, their warm, exploring touches sending anticipation coursing through his frame.

The blond laughed. It was followed by a sincere, unguarded smile—the kind that had been given rarely, even when they were together. "Yes we do."

"If we do, there'll be no regrets?"

"No regrets," the prosecutor assured. "Unless, of course, you have another poorly-timed confession to make."

"No confessions," Hirato whispered, his breath ghosting along the shell of Akari's ear. "Except one long overdue..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know some things about the Hirato-Akari relationship *still* don't make sense. Like, is Akari going to give it up so easily? Why is Hirato finally caving to his desires? How is Akari going to deal with Hirato's fucked-up plan? Will he get Hirato to put aside his revenge scheme for a happily ever after? So, let me leave you with the following: In life, sex *rarely* solves all problems. Too bad we undertake it so often without thinking things through.
> 
> Anyway, please be patient. 'Aloft' is a slow burn sort of story.


	14. Chapter 14

"No confessions… except one long overdue…."

Akari placed a stalling hand over his companion's mouth. "I don't need to hear it," he said. Truly, he didn't. Not anymore. The staggering depth of Hirato's sentiment had become manifest in the last few minutes.

He pulled the defense lawyer nearer by his necktie, digits curling under the silk with a neediness rarely displayed. Hirato followed, banding an arm about him so forcefully that it was almost painful—as though he couldn't get close enough.

A storm raged outside, heavy rain drumming a soothing tattoo on the walls and suffusing the room in shifting shadows. Sparkling glass was uncomfortably cool as Akari's back made contact, Hirato trapping him in place and interlacing their fingers against the window. Soon enough, however, small, steamy halos formed around their joined hands. The brunet's touch seared like molten wax—his agile fingers threaded through argentine hair; clever tongue rasping along a graceful neck. Even the way he leaned against Akari sent fever coursing through the blond's limbs, unmooring his bearing and enveloping his senses with the aroma of cloves and smoke.

Hirato had always been like that; he'd always felt incandescent.

They broke apart, breaths labored and dragging. "My room or yours?" Hirato inquired huskily. "Or we can do this right here, against the window." The suggestion was made with a quick nip along Akari's jawline.

"Yours is fine," Akari answered. "Unless you're _aiming_ to attract voyeurs."

"Hmmm. Sounds interesting." The cunning devil laughed against his collarbone. "But I won't allow anyone else to see you like this."

"So your room it is," Akari murmured between greedy kisses.

"You won't like the view," Hirato's matter-of-fact tone was completely at odds with the fervor of his actions.

"I don't give a damn about the view."

Clothes were discarded haphazardly during their owners' unheeding pursuit of carnality in a well-practiced choreography that had never been forgotten—Hirato's tie just outside the office door, Akari's sweater on the living room rug. The defense attorney's glasses were tossed unceremoniously on the sofa; the blond's shirt on the floor. Hands traversed flesh as they stumbled towards the bedroom, fingertips finally unrestrained to etch patterns they'd drawn years ago. It was remarkable how Akari's muscle memories knew the exact manner in which to tune his lover's body—how scratching along Hirato's side precipitated tiny shivers and rubbing him through his trousers made sure steps falter momentarily. _Maybe you belong to me too,_ he adduced from the way the brunet arched into him.

Once across the threshold, Akari pulled away and shoved Hirato to the bed roughly, pleased at the sprawl of long, pale limbs against dark sheets. Trim muscles flexed as the brunet propped himself up on his elbows. An unruly mop of inky hair lay in odd angles from being handled and the flush spreading across alabaster skin enticed like nothing else. Honestly, the man was devastating—a prize worth losing. The most alluring thing, though, was the way he gazed at his prey, pupils blown so wide that a mere sliver of amethyst ringed them.

Several moments passed in thoughtful silence as each regarded the other. Akari had never expected to find himself standing over a very nearly naked Hirato again. In fact, he thought he'd done a stellar job of _avoiding_ the current situation. Well, until now, that is. _How did it come to this?_ he pondered before being interrupted by a beckoning finger crooking over the waistband of his boxers.

"Come here," Hirato said gently, tugging him forward.

Having exhausted all refusals, Akari surrendered, crawling over the prone man while their lips met and parted and met again in an intricate dance. Dextrous hands traveled up his thighs and over his hips, finally resting against his shoulder blades as Hirato pulled him close. He remembered with striking clarity and bittersweet nostalgia the comfort he'd formerly sought in that embrace. And for once, he let himself succumb to illusory idyll. Fierce, determined kisses melted into a more deliberate, softer sort of play. Eventually, the brunet stilled altogether.

"Is something wrong?" Akari queried, enjoying their closeness.

"I want you to be sure."

 _Why must you ruin the mood?_ The DA groaned in exasperation and tried futilely to push away; Hirato's vice-like grip permitted no escape. A knotty mass of thoughts flitted through his mind, but one in particular surfaced from the murk, frightening him for reasons he'd rather not investigate: _I'm not sure. But I want you regardless._

Finding no reply forthcoming, Hirato rolled the prosecutor on his back, brushing aside silvery strands. He brought their heads together, "Why now?"

"Why does it matter if you're getting what you desire?"

"Akari…" It carried the barest hint of pique.

The blond huffed, but he relented nevertheless. "Because I want to, Hirato. And because I'm not worried about tomorrow so long as tonight means something." It was honest. Perhaps exceedingly so, but he'd never acquired his lover's penchant for equivocation.

Then there it was—the roguish quirk of the lips that never failed to quicken Akari's pulse. "So, it's like I said. You're mine," the irresistible rake asserted, worrying a patch of skin just below the prosecutor's ear.

Akari did not bother to point out that he was not, in point of fact, Hirato's property. Instead he canted his head, a cast of provocation gleaming in opaline irises. "Claim me, then. If you can."

* * *

 _A challenge, counselor? I accept._ Hirato nudged the shell of Akari's ear. "I intend to. You _will_ come for me," he _ordered_ , voice a predacious purr.

"I certainly hope so."

Hope was superfluous, Hirato knew, especially when Akari leaned into every press of lips. His breath hitched intermittently as the brunet left a neat pattern of bruises from jaw to stomach, being particularly attentive to the prosecutor's most sensitive areas. Chicago's most respectable Assistant DA would regret letting himself be marked so visibly in the morning, no doubt, but Hirato would happily endure the inevitable scolding. _You told me to claim you, after all._

The defense lawyer would have smirked in self-satisfaction if his mouth hadn't traveled over the raised ridge of a scar – rough and hard, and wholly unsuited to the unblemished porcelain that it marred. Suddenly his chest grew tight, as if he were caught in a powerful undercurrent. Ominous feelings washed over him, heady and suffocating, and by the time they ebbed, he'd ceased his ministrations, psyche whirling wildly with imaginings of the decidedly darker variety. _Two inches higher, and he wouldn't be here, warm and alive; he'd be cold, de—_

"Hey," Akari called, careful palm cupping Hirato's cheek and drawing him from this dangerous ideation. "Where are you?"

There was no hiding from the other's penetrating stare. Not now, not when he was exposed in every conceivably way. Still, that didn't mean he had to answer truthfully. Or at all, really. In lieu of a proper reply, he bit Akari's nipple. Hard. The DA gasped, all thoughts of ill-timed interrogations obliterated by pleasure served on the edge of pain—just like he preferred it. A smirk finally appeared on Hirato's face then, betraying how delighted he was that his paramour's body was reacting to him as it always had. Like a concert violinist, he could play anyone with a maestro's skill—anyone but Akari, that is. The blond had always been less subject to his ample charms than others. That was precisely why making him come spectacularly apart was so enthralling; Akari didn't lower his defenses for just anyone.

Hirato applied more pressure to his bite, itching to taste _more_. In time, Akari was covered with uneven splotches of red, barely visible upon heat-flushed skin. His erection strained against his boxers, growing harder with each snip. Hirato trailed a scorching, slick path down his torso, causing him to writhe as saliva dried in the cool air. A contented sigh welcomed the brunet when he dipped an exploring tongue into Akari's navel and moved downward from there. He lingered at the waistband of the blond's shorts, tugging playfully at them with his teeth. Narrow hips lifted in aid of their removal… and then the prosecutor promptly sank back into the mattress when Hirato mouthed him through the thin cotton.

"Oh—fuck!" How the defense attorney had always loved _that_ —that the prodigy's unparalleled vocabulary utterly failed in these circumstances.

"Hmmm," he hummed slyly, prompting another string of expletives. Akari's toes fought for purchase in the sheets as the brunet laved the head of his penis with enough saliva to make fabric stick to sensitive skin. Hirato could taste his lover, slightly bitter and viscous, and more satisfying than anything he'd ever sampled.

Sitting up, he finally slid those boxers off, taking time to remove his as well. The DA inhaled sharply as Hirato blew across the flushed, moist tip of his cock, withholding both heat and friction. A tremulous hand tangled through sable hair, gripping the strands with uncharacteristic force; evidently, Akari found delayed gratification rather unamusing. Determining that he'd teased enough, Hirato slipped his mouth over the strawberry blond. Akari almost arched off the bed with the first languid lick up his shaft. Lithe thighs trembled as the brunet worked, setting a leisurely rhythm and intending very much to unhinge his bedmate with every weapon in possession.

 _It's true what they say about sex and voyeurism_ , the defense lawyer concluded, because watching Akari watch _him_ was fucking mesmerizing. His cock twitched at the way lust had turned the other's nectarine eyes a deep fuchsia. Or how long eyelashes fluttered with every downstroke. Light-colored brows furrowed when he stopped to coax a bit more pearly liquid from the slit. Then, without warning, without an iota of mercy, Hirato flicked his tongue in a manner that made Akari bite his fist violently enough to score. The gesture muffled his voice, but the brunet did not miss the choked out syllables of his name.

"Don't cover your mouth," he said. "I want to hear you. I want to hear what I'm doing to you." An agonizingly lazy trail along the blond's shaft. "All of it."

Akari nearly yelled as Hirato deep-throated him, chin tilted at the perfect angle to accommodate his entire length. He may not often gift his lovers with blow jobs, but like everything he essayed, he excelled at it. Cheeks hollowed, he sucked, causing the man underneath him to shudder and buck. _No one else can take you apart like this. No one will_ ever _take you apart like this_ _._

When finally released, Akari went limp like a puppet with its strings cut.

Being mindful that the prosecutor's capacity for endurance had been handicapped of late, Hirato nuzzled him, murmuring quietly, "Are you okay?"

"I'm—I'm _still_ fine," Akari managed around unsteady inhales, annoyance manifest in his tone. In retribution for his current state, he reached down and encircled Hirato's shaft, stroking him with just enough pressure to frustrate. He twisted his hand on each upstroke, derailing the defense attorney's cognition. Hirato's moan caught in his throat when Akari trailed a thumb over the crown of his penis, dragging come across the head.

He closed his eyes, focusing on the way the blond felt, the warmth of his hand as it moved, the flavor lingering on his lips, and the faint scent of sweat and sex that made the air around them pregnant with anticipation. _Just this would suffice_ , he realized, as an ardent mouth slanted over his. _Even this is more than I deserve._

Akari's eyes met his. "Are you having second thoughts?" he asked, lips ghosting against Hirato's.

 _Definitely not._ He shook his head and deepened their kiss. Undeserving he may be, but the defense lawyer had forever been ravenous when it came to Akari.

"Then stop treating me like some precious gem."

Hirato laughed, face buried pinkish hair. "As you wish, my dear DA." A chaste peck on the cheek. "Don't move," he said, reaching over him and rummaging through the night stand for lube.

Akari didn't move, but he did taunt, fingernails scraping lightly across the flat planes of the brunet's stomach as he caught a nipple with his teeth. A sharp snap, and Hirato dropped the tube he was holding.

"Damnit," he hissed.

Akari chuckled darkly. "Did you think you were the only one who could effect such a reaction?"

 _We'll see who's laughing in a minute,_ he thought mischievously. He retrieved the lube and positioned himself between the other man's legs, squeezing a generous amount of the silky gel into his hands and rubbing them together to warm it. "No, but it would be terribly discourteous of me to extract such taxing labor from a cripple." A saccharine-sweet smile. "You know I'm no easy conquest."

"Who do you think you're calling a cripple, you bas—" And that was all he could articulate before Hirato silenced him with another sweep of tongue along his cock. "—shit."

"You were saying?" he said smugly before taking Akari in his mouth again.

The blond threw an arm over his eyes. "You—ah!—evil incubus…" He moaned filthily. "You'll pay for th-that."

The defense lawyer let up and glanced at his conquest. "Promises, promises," he quipped while stretching Akari's entrance—meticulously inserting one finger and another, waiting for the other's body to acclimate to the intrusion; they'd always been exceptionally careful with each other when it came to preparation. Still, that didn't mean he had to behave. After ensuring that the pain would be minimal (even though the blond wouldn't mind rough handling), he crooked his finger, stimulating Akari's pleasure point.

"Goddamnit, Hirato," the DA growled at the unintentional quiver, "Will you just get on with it?"

Being the obliging sort (sometimes), he placed himself at Akari's entrance and slid forward in an excruciatingly halting manner, drinking in the long hiss that resulted. He was almost completely inside when the prosecutor tilted his hips and hooked a leg over him, slamming them together.

"Shit." Now he was the one uttering curses under his breath. "Goodness you're impatient," he said, maintaining his trademark nonchalance with some effort.

Akari smirked. "I'm not one for dithering."

Hirato pulled back, maddeningly slow in his movements, and angled his next thrust to glide against the other's prostate. "I've waited too long for this; I'm going to savor you."

Another long, unhurried stroke and Akari's nails were cutting into his shoulders, drawing blood. The miniature lacerations stung as sweat dripped over them, yet he could focus on nothing but the man beneath him. Cerise eyes were clamped shut, eyelashes nearly disappearing behind tight folds of skin. Thin brows knitted together while the blond's mouth hung slightly open, kiss-stung lips swollen pink.

_God, he's beautiful._

The DA's breathing grew shallower with each drive, every roll of the hips eliciting a haggard inhale. Seeing Akari like this—thoroughly undone—was the most sublime thing Hirato had ever witnessed.

"You're so tight," he teased, recalling that coarseness had always embarrassed his companion. It was ever so fun to torment him, even _en flagrante delicto_. "Just like I remember…."

Akari clenched.

"Fuck, Akari." His thrusts became arrhythmic as a consequence of this atypical craftiness. _When did you get so devious, hmmm?_ he wondered _._ _I must be a terrible influence._

All intellectual coherence was rent asunder with another clench.

Refusing to be out-maneuvered a third time, he hooked an arm under Akari's leg. Ever mindful of his lover's condition, he inquired, "Is this okay?"

Had Akari not been so… preoccupied, he'd surely have admonished. Or lavished the brunet with at least a dozen unflattering epithets. As it stood, he could only glower in displeasure at the apparently insulting question.

Hirato pressed a quick kiss to the inside of the prosecutor's knee and lifted it onto his shoulder. The new angle put unyielding pressure on his prostate—that is, if Akari's toes curling against air was any indication.

"Faster," the DA demanded.

The brunet's speed increased almost involuntarily, driven by the insatiable need to see Akari at the apex of pleasure, all pretense of composure abandoned. Already, every muscle in the blond's body was contracted. It wouldn't take long before he climaxed. In service of that end, Hirato set a punishing pace, giving him exactly what he hungered for—harder, faster, deeper. He stroked Akari in time with his thrusts, effecting ragged cries that echoed in the high-ceilinged chamber. And just as the DA approached the brink of orgasm, Hirato slowed once more. "Come for me, Akari," he said silkily.

Akari did just that, thick ribbons spilling between them, back curved in a graceful arc. Hirato watched unblinkingly as the blond climaxed so intensely that his knuckles turned white from clawing at the bedding. Overwrought muscles spasmed forcefully; the brunet could sense minute trembling thrumming through his own body. He rode out the orgasm, waiting for that nonpareil genius to return so that Akari would never misunderstand again: "I told you you're mine."

"Fuck," the DA called out, completely spent. "Hirato." But there was a satiated sort of quirk to his lips.

Hirato came a few strokes later, vision burning white as he buried his face in Akari's neck, the prosecutor's name muffled against delicate flesh. He fell atop his conquest in a sweat-drenched, sticky heap, reassured by the beating of the DA's heart—unsteady, to be sure, but very much present.

"How was that?" he asked, attempting to discern whether or not he'd hurt Akari.

"More mind-blowing than in my memories." A smile materialized in the voice.

"Not what I meant."

"I know," Akari conceded, chary fingers carding through damp, black hair. "I'm fine. Better than fine, in fact."

* * *

Akari couldn't determine what was more irritating—Hirato's ceaseless inquiries after his discomfort, or the way he smiled his Chesire smile as he took in the sheer mess he'd made of them. When the blond finally caught his breath, he leveled his stare at the self-assured bastard who'd propped himself up on an elbow to look down upon his prize in glory.

"Oh, stop it, you arrogant jerk," Akari said flatly.

The defense attorney smirked and snickered happily, dragging a finger through the cooling liquid now dripping along the DA's abdomen, his hooded gaze darkening further and not wavering one whit as he licked his finger. "Mmmm. Now why would you want to say such bitter things when you can be so sweet?" And then he smacked his lips.

When Akari's facility for thought returned, he pounced on his bedmate, pinning him against the mattress and crushing their mouths together hotly. Having years of intimate knowledge of the other's body was tremendously advantageous. While he was more vulnerable to touch and tongue before sex, Hirato was far more susceptible afterwards, his flesh so over-stimulated that mere breath floating across it made him shiver. Cognizant of as much, Akari slid against him, eliciting a strangled gasp. "Do you suppose I've forgotten how to fuck?" he whispered, low and rumbling at the brunet's ear.

Hirato inhaled sharply but regained his composure in record time. "Not at all. I'm sure your virtuosity is undiminished by your recent ordeal." And then he groaned as his inner thigh was pinched with enough pressure to bruise. Akari ground their half-hard shafts together, earning himself a hissed rebuke. "Damnit, Akari." Still, there was a victorious smile alighting those pale lips. "You're cheating."

"Maybe," he owned, capturing an open mouth and quite literally stealing Hirato's breath. "Or maybe you're mine."

* * *

Hirato blew across the back of his lover's neck, trying to recapture his attention. Akari was turned away from him, low lilac light making fine skin glow an eerie blue. Deep, even breathing suggested that the prosecutor was exhausted. Hirato was exhausted as well, but he was so pleased at having the other man back in his bed that he couldn't restrain himself. When breath failed, he placed his mouth against Akari's nape, scraping lightly with a canine.

 _That_ certainly worked. "I know what you're trying to do, but we are in no fit shape to commence round three." Akari stretched and yawned; Hirato nearly keeled over at how adorable it was. "Go to sleep."

 _I don't think so._ He licked the edge of the blond's ear, making him start. A sly hand moved lower and lower along his side, slipping dangerously close to the waistband of his boxers.

Akari groaned and turned around, tucking his head under Hirato's chin. "Behave."

As he considered the warm weight of the other man fitted into his side (a rare sensation, even when they were involved), the spill of spun-silver hair against his flesh, and the soft, steady wafting of breath across his heated skin, he grinned in triumph. _Lovely,_ he thought, unable to stop himself from smiling.

"And wipe that smirk off your face…" the DA intoned, eyes still closed.

So maybe Hirato wasn't as inscrutable as he imagined himself to be. Or maybe Akari had been right; maybe he'd belonged to the blond all this time.

He drew them closer. "Next time, I'm going to tie you up."

"Next time?" Akari stiffened in his arms. And then the defense attorney realized his mistake. "You know I can't stay."

"I know, Akari," Hirato said solemnly. And he _did_ know, despite wishing it otherwise. "It would be unethical." _But will you_ _come back?_


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't a real chapter; think of it as a short intermission of the decidedly bittersweet variety.

Akari slipped from bed, smiling to himself as Hirato unconsciously reached after him, long digits splaying out against rumpled sheets—seeking warmth, no doubt. Astonishing how inveterate some behaviors were; the brunet had always been in the custom of throwing an overprotective arm over his bedmate after sex. _Damnably covetous, even while asleep,_ Akari thought wryly. Still, he didn't much mind. After all, it was Hirato's startling possessiveness that betrayed his latent feelings.

He padded to the window, crystalline eyes narrowing slightly when his phantasmal reflection coalesced into clarity. Starkly contrasted in the moonlight, myriad bruises littered his chest—mementos from tonight's tryst. They'd linger for weeks, he knew from experience, fading from blue-black to greenish-yellow, and then disappearing altogether. _And when they're gone, so too will any evidence that Hirato touched me at all._ Akari's mouth instinctively tightened at the realization.

He placed a hand to the window, the glass cool enough to preclude any possibility of this being a dream. Lake Michigan looked positively alive from aloft, its nighttime waters an agitating mass of opaque, un-reflective pitch. Floating fragments of ice were buffeted amidst ebony waves that churned in cutting winds. Akari wondered how Hirato managed to gaze out at the endless expanse without experiencing the sensation of freefall.

"I warned you about the view," the object of his ruminations said drowsily, sleep-roughened voice imbued with the quality of siren's song.

Akari faced him. His lanky shadow fell over the bed, casting across the defense attorney in an appealing pattern of lights and darks. Even under scant illumination, he could discern the other man's smirk. Or perhaps he simply recognized it was present. "Indeed. I prefer the view from my room."

"On the other hand, I am rather enjoying _this_ view."

A frustrated sigh. "Do you never grow weary of hackneyed lines?"

The brunet merely nodded, intuiting his companion's somber mood. "Come to bed, then."

Akari acquiesced, sliding under the blankets and resting his head against his lover's shoulder, an arm slipped low about his waist. They'd never slept so close, not even on the most arctic of Southside nights. Then again, they'd never had need.

"I know you're leaving," Hirato said, his hand absent-mindedly gliding up and down the blond's back, "but I want you to have dinner with me tomorrow night."

Akari tensed in his embrace. "Why?"

Soft laughter swept through the prosecutor's hair, sending a minute tingling rushing along his spine. "Relax. I haven't orchestrated some grand scheme. My brother is visiting and he hoped to see you."

"Tokitatsu?"

"Hmmm," Hirato confirmed with a kiss to his forehead. "Surely he's worth a few more hours of my insufferable company."

"You're not insufferable," Akari began, "I can't stay because—"

"—because you can't approve of my plan regarding Azana."

"...amongst other reasons." _Not the least of which is your propensity for arrant philandering,_ the DA appended mentally.

Silence stretched uncomfortably between them, turning seconds into small eternities. Akari might have mistaken his companion's quietude for slumber had he not been intimately familiar with the brunet's breathing patterns. Nearly an hour passed before Hirato's hand threaded though strawberry blond strands, entirely too hesitant and reserved given the evening's activities. "I wish I hadn't hurt you the way I did."

Heart caught in his throat and mouth suddenly dry, Akari offered whatever paltry words were left to him: "So do I."

* * *

Dawn arrived much too soon and with exceeding severity; reflected sunlight from the lake's surface filtered through the windows, setting the room ablaze with blinding refulgence. Akari groaned in protest and burrowed into the bedding, thankful its dark hue blocked out much of the offending light. Hirato reached over him towards the nightstand, searching for the shade remote no doubt. A few seconds' whirring and they were once again doused in darkness.

"Better?" the brunet asked, amusement inflecting his cadence.

The DA emerged from under the covers. "Do you wake to this every morning? It's intolerable."A strong arm wrapped around his shoulders. Cognizant that this romantic utopia would dissolve once they rose, he allowed himself the indulgence.

"It prevents lovers from overstaying their welcome."

The blond huffed and swallowed a sarcastic rejoinder.

"But drawing the shade won't keep them from leaving, either," Hirato said pointedly.

Several moments passed in an absolute hush. "Hirato?" Akari finally ventured.

"Hmmm?"

"I don't want you to pursue Azana," he replied purposefully, _willing_ his companion to comprehend, to abandon his dangerous quest. "I don't want you to dirty your hands with revenge."

Hirato released him, resting his arms above his head and curling his fingers into tight fists. "I'm sorry, Akari. I can't just let it go; he nearly killed you."

"But he _didn't_. I'm right here." As if to prove the point, he pressed a chaste kiss to the other man's cheek.

"And that's the only reason he's not dead," the brunet intoned in a manner devoid of all emotion.

Akari blinked, taken aback by the assertion, yes, but also the mechanical nature of his lover's voice. "You don't mean that."

"You forget, counselor," Hirato whispered, tenor milder now. "You're the principled one."

Before he could dispute further, velvety lips slanted across his own, effecting both silence and surrender.


	16. Chapter 16

Akari glowered at himself in the mirror and unknotted his necktie for the third time. Huffing, he essayed it anew, making the knot as wide as possible in service of hiding one particularly livid bruise on the side of his neck. Although the sheer number of such marks on his body suggested otherwise, Hirato  _had_  been careful in his ministrations (whether by will or coincidence). Only its edge was visible over his shirt collar—a small arc of cherry red against pale skin. Most people would scarcely notice, of course, but Tokitatsu was not most people.

The situation was sufficiently thorny without Akari complicating matters needlessly by giving Hirato's brother the wrong impression vis-à-vis their relationship—or lack thereof.

He'd just untangled the silk again when a soft knock interrupted. "Come in," he called.

"Are you dressed?" Hirato inquired politely from beyond the threshold.

Akari smirked. "I woke up in your bed. Does it matter if I'm dressed?"

Hirato entered, mischief alighting his features. Unsurprisingly, he was immaculately-clad, dark woolen suit and shirt striking against his angular features and vibrant eyes. "Only because seeing you undressed would precipitate my delay." Striding forward, he wordlessly took the tie in hand and commenced knotting it, elegant hands manipulating the powder blue fabric with fluid grace. A subtle heat gathered under Akari's skin as those nimble fingers brushed against the delicate flesh of his throat. "I think we ought to try a full Windsor today, hmmm? Jiki may ask too many questions otherwise." He slid his fingers down the strip of silk and brought the end to his lips. "And you know I am loath share even the tiniest part of you."

Akari rolled his eyes and tugged the tie from Hirato's grip. "You're incorrigible."

"Most definitely," the defense attorney quipped, "but I daresay you prefer me this way." With that, he brushed his lips against the prosecutor's in a barely-there kiss. Stepping back before Akari could protest, he canted his head and regarded his guest in pretend contemplation "Flawless," he stated, Cheshire grin broadening.

"Clever," the DA replied dryly. Even so, he nearly flushed. It was remarkable, really, how quickly they'd fallen into rote habits—how thoroughly their defenses had been shattered last night, how he could believe that Hirato really was his, that there existed a future beyond today.  _I'm going to miss this_ , he thought.  _So very much._

"So, what are your plans for this afternoon?" Hirato asked. "My guess is physical therapy is out the question since you'd have to lose the shirt and tie."

"Actually," Akari said, rare deviltry underscoring his tone, "my therapist has been making passes at me. Showing up wearing another's marks might cool his advances."

The defense attorney laughed. "I'm a terrible influence, aren't I?"

"The worst."

"What will you do about that," he gestured to the bruise hidden underneath Akari's collar, "after therapy?"

"I'm not helpless, you know. I'd not thought of employing a full Windsor, but I certainly know how to execute one." Akari averted his stare, feeling incredibly like an embarrassed adolescent.

"Of course you do," Hirato responded indulgently. "When will you get home?"

"I'm having lunch with Yogi afterwards, so I expect to return around two."

Violet eyes narrowed at that. "Lunch with Yogi?" he queried. "Where?"

"Relax," Akari assured. "Jiki will be babysitting."

Hirato nodded. "Okay. I'll see you afterwards. My brother should be here by then." Without warning, he swept the blond into another kiss, one arm wrapped cravingly around his waist and the other tangled in his hair. The DA knew he should resist, that he should prevent escalation, but the trace of desperation that lingered on Hirato's lips compelled surrender.  _We've always been better at deeds than words anyway._ He therefore returned the overture, pressing himself even closer and drinking in the other man's maddening scent.

They broke apart, each a little dazed. "Hirato—"

A firm shake of the head. "Don't, Akari. No talk of Azana or your leaving. Not until it's time for you to go."

 _Damnit._ Acquiescing to this latest scheme would entail fairly more than not engaging certain topoi of conversation; it would mean reconciliation, at least for the next several hours. It would mean intimate touches and stolen kisses and all manner of unconcealed affection. It would make leaving that much more difficult. Still, Akari mutely nodded his assent and ignored the knotty sensation in his chest, a sensation he apprehended too well as guilt.  _I shouldn't lead him on like this._

"Good." Hirato pressed his lips against his cheek before sauntering out the door. "I'll see you soon."

* * *

Jiki had suggested lunch at an Italian restaurant not far from the DA's Office. In terms of privacy, the venue was perfect. High-backed leather booths lined the wall, their distance from the other tables effective measure against eavesdropping. Despite it being mid-afternoon, the lights were dim and the music low. Rich, velvet burgundies and blacks characterized the décor, making Akari feel oddly like he ought to be on a date. A scant few patrons were scattered here and there, and even they were huddled as though sharing secrets of a decidedly sensitive sort. Only the thick, obscuring clouds of cigarette smoke were missing.

The police officer laughed when he caught Akari's expression. "You look surprised."

"It's—romantic—for a mid-day lunch, no?"

Jiki acceded. "I often bring Tsukumo here. We like it because we can converse without disturbance."

"I see."

"This place used to be a mafioso staple; that's why the tables are so distant from one another." He led the way to the farthest booth, nodding briskly at the man behind the bar as they passed. Jiki motioned for Akari to take the inside seat before taking the one facing the door. "If these walls could talk, Assistant DA Dezart, you'd have your hands full with cases for the next twenty years," the police offer informed while waving Yogi over.

"I'm thankful for their silence, then."

The meeting was a productive affair, largely due to the fact that Ryoushi had finally permitted Yogi to brief Akari on the Azana case. The Assistant DA found it awfully absurd that his subordinate was allowed information denied to  _him_ , but he'd learned long ago not to argue with his own superior. Ryoushi was extraordinarily gifted at securing his own aims, after all.

"Why's he letting me see the case files now?" Akari asked, trying and failing to  _not_ sound threatening. "We've wasted so much time in the interim."

"H-h-he said he wanted you to take it easy for a while. That's all." Yogi shrank back into the booth as though he were being assaulted. "We knew he couldn't keep you off the case for long."

The elder blond closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.  _To think this case rests on the whims of a fickle old man and an insecure neophyte._ Even so, he did not articulate his concerns. Dictatorial he may be, and while he'd been accused of being downright tyrannical, he was not, contrary to prevailing opinion, cruel. Currently, his deputy was demonstrating the tell-tale signs of overwork—blood-shot eyes and tired bags underneath them. Pallor made Yogi look greyer than his years. Couple that with the languor in the square of the youth's shoulders and Akari instantly regretted his harsh ideation. He was no stranger to these symptoms himself, after all. "When did you last truly sleep?" he queried in what he hoped was a gentle fashion.

"I'm f-fine," Yogi said, lavender irises suddenly growing large and glassy. Apparently he was greatly moved by this meager show of his supervisor's anxiety. "You  _do_ care."

"Yes I care, you idiot," Akari shot back. "This is the biggest case of the last five years. I need all hands on deck."

The youth immediately deflated. "Anyway, now that you're back, things won't be so crazy," he said sullenly.

"I'll assist as much as I can, but you ought to take the lead since I'm a witness."

Buoyed once again by his superior's faith in him, the younger man beamed. He yawned happily, stretching his arms above his head. "Of course. I'm quite looking forward to putting that bastard away," he asserted with a wink.

"Cheers," Jiki interjected, raising his glass.

The senior prosecutor leaned back and crossed his arms, one brow arched high. "And you're prepared to meet Hirato in a courtroom? You realize he's the best."

Yogi giggled before fixing him with a silvery stare, trademark diffidence nowhere in sight. "No, you're the best. And I've watched you long enough to pick up some tricks."

 _You won't need them if he throws the case,_ Akari considered. Nevertheless, he thought better of divulging Hirato's program. Ignorance would insulate Yogi from fallout if this flagrant miscarriage of justice were made public. Besides, what harm was there in allowing the young attorney to assume he'd triumphed over one of the most skilled trial lawyers in the country? If anything, his timorous employee could use the boost in confidence.

"Anyway, you can have these since I don't have to fear them getting into Hirato's hands anymore." Yogi pushed a tidy stack of manila envelopes across the table. "They're the latest set of files. We can start putting together our case once you've read them."

"Thanks." Akari stowed them in his briefcase. "By the way, how is Gareki working out?"

The youth suddenly dropped his gaze, eyes trained on his hands in his lap and head bowed. Instead of the sanguinity he'd adopted for most of the conversation, his affect darkened perceptibly at the mention of his erstwhile lover. "He's very good. V-very efficient."

"It runs in the family," Akari replied. "Exceptionally brilliant, the lot of them."

"Exceptionally selfish too," the junior prosecutor added, an uncharacteristic acrimony inflecting his tenor.

"He may yet surprise you."

"Has Hirato managed to surprise  _you_?" Yogi queried, the gleam in his irises intimating challenge.

Akari cleared his throat before answering. "Astonishing me has never been his problem. He's so adept, in fact, that I'd prefer he simply met my expectations without exceeding them."

"It's a good thing you're moving out then, right?"

"Indeed it is," the DA acceded.  _But not for the reasons you might think._

"But why leave  _now_?" the younger man asked.

"Irreconcilable differences." Akari offered in a tone that brooked no further probing.

* * *

Hirato spent his morning at the office, fielding inquests made on his numerous cases. Sometimes his efficiency staggered even him. What took most attorneys to accomplish in days, he could do in hours. It incensed Tsukitachi tremendously. It also precipitated his swift promotion within the firm.

The defense attorney briefed Bizante on progress with respect to the Azana case, promising to scour thoroughly for evidence of corruption at the DA's Office. His supervisor was determined to see Akari and Ryoushi ruined; it made Hirato's blood rush in his ears. That said, being asked to scrutinize his ex-lover was a positive sign—it meant that Bizante had yet to learn the nature of their relationship. For now. The truth  _would_ surface, he surmised. He'd plotted to orchestrate his exit before then.

Assigning the particularly repugnant task of investigating the opposition to his team of expert paralegals, he headed uptown to collect Tokitatsu from the Drake Hotel. A flitting smile passed his lips as the stately grey edifice came into view. Nostalgia enveloped him. He'd worked as a concierge at the Drake his first year of law school. He'd been good at it too—inordinately so. A natural charmer, Chicago's elite were effortlessly beguiled by the charismatic youth. Perhaps it was the headiness of being in the Loop, or maybe it was being in propinquity to the affluent and beautiful clientele who patronized the legendary hotel. In either case, Hirato resolved to settle in the city shortly after his employment commenced. He also vowed that he'd reach heights beyond the penthouse of even the Drake. What he did not foresee was sacrificing Akari as propitiation to the gods of fortune.

The drive to his apartment was, unbelievably,  _not_  filled with a CIA-worthy interrogation of his personal life. Instead, the two brothers spoke principally of their younger charge.

"You're too meddlesome," Tokitatsu stated. "Although I gather it's a measure of your attachment."

"I'm not meddling," Hirato responded. "I'm aiding his ascendancy."

"Ah, but whose notion of success are you imposing on our Marx-toting, rally-attending, culturally-subversive little brother?"

"We shouldn't have sent him to college," the younger said tartly.

"No, we should have sent him to a pretentious ivy instead of a haven for intellectual renegades."

Hirato shrugged in defeat. "I'll concede the point. But you've been encouraging him to go to law school too. It's not like I'm the only Ayn Rand-reading capitalist bastard brother that he has."

" _I'm_  advising good life decisions," Tokitatsu countered cheerfully. " _You_  bought his way into Yale."

Hirato tutted. He'd had this little tête-à-tête with multiple parties more times than he could recall—Akari, Tokitatsu, Tsukitachi, and Eva as well. "Are we on about this again?"

His passenger nearly doubled over in cackles. "You're so cute when you're irritated."

"Grow up."

"Come on, let me enjoy it," the elder pleaded. "It's so rare a phenomenon. You're all stoic and officious most of the time."

"Maybe if you were more stoic and officious, you'd have won the Arumerita case."

Ignoring the bait, the sandy blond-haired man only smiled serenely. "It's really good to see you again too—under pleasant circumstances, I mean."

It wasn't until after they'd arrived home that talk turned to his current houseguest. Hirato had guessed that they'd broach the topic eventually, and peculiarly, he found that he didn't much mind. Tokitatsu had visited when the DA was unconscious—had witnessed him at his lowest—and had neither mocked nor balked. Despite the man's infernal penchant for puerility, he was uncommonly wise when the situation demanded it.

"Where's Akari?" Tokitatsu inquired, sharp gaze tracing the shore of the Lake through the living room windows. Snow had just begun to fall outside, innumerable flakes whirling gracefully about in the violent wind. It was a mesmerizing sight. "I thought he was your new roommate."

"Physical therapy," Hirato said, offering up a glass of scotch.

"Thanks," the elder replied, taking the proffered beverage and attending once again to the view. "I bet he loves that—a daily reminder that he's not all he used to be."

"Honestly, I'm more concerned about his therapist. You know how prickly Akari gets when things aren't going his way." Hirato took a sip from his own glass, rolling the sweet, smoky flavor over his tongue.

"I remember." A thoughtful pause. "You know, I've missed him these past few years. Holiday dinners aren't nearly as entertaining without him."

"Somehow I don't think he'll take that as a compliment."

Silence fell between them—a not entirely uncomfortable silence. The brunet let his ruminations drift to his bedmate at the height of pleasure, all long limbs and lean muscles splayed out against rumpled sheets. An undone Akari was more hypnotizing than the snowfall. The very image made his fingertips tingle in their want for touch.

"So, will he be joining us this year?" Tokitatsu eventually ventured.

"I don't think so," Hirato replied quietly. "He's leaving. He's subjecting himself to dinner tonight because you're in town."

"I'm sorry." To his credit, he certainly looked it. Those typically-sparkling eyes dulled in that moment and his grin turned plastic.

"Me too."

Tokitatsu recommenced staring out the window. "If the Azana case happens according to your design, you'll lose everything."

"I don't remember sharing the details of that case with you," Hirato said sharply.

"You didn't have to." Once again, quietude descended on the pair. Once again, it was the elder that interrupted it. "If Akari's leaving, you'll get nothing out of this. Are you prepared to forfeit him  _and_  your livelihood?"

"I am." He was. Truly. Seeing Azana requite for his offenses against Akari was worth any price. "That said, I won't give him up without a fight. I so  _hate_  to lose."

Tokitatsu smirked. "And here everyone thinks you're unprincipled."

The corners of Hirato's mouth turned up in a half smile that uncannily resembled his brother's. "I'm not Akari, though."

"No, little brother, you're not." Tokitatsu endeavored to ruffle his hair only to be forcefully slapped away. He snickered before speaking again. "But you're good enough. It's a shame he can't see that."

* * *

Dinner was saved through Akari's intervention. Again. He'd prevented Hirato's kitchen from becoming a veritable conflagration so many times that he wondered how the brunet managed to make toast before he moved in.  _He probably just had it delivered,_ the DA mused drolly. It was while grilling the steak that he realized how much he would miss this too—the nightly company, the idle conversation shared over a meal, the veiled eagerness with which he'd await his companion, and the fragile emotion that had come to full flower last night. Hell, he would even miss Hirato's cooking.  _Okay, maybe not his cooking._

Ever the gracious host, the brunet ushered his two guests out the dining room after they'd eaten, insisting that he'd clean up. Akari would have favored dirty dishes to Tokitatsu. The elder sibling was every bit as mischievous as his younger, true, but he was every bit as protective too. This meant that he would want to know the meaning behind all of Hirato's sidelong glancing and surreptitious tactility. He would want to know why the defense attorney had settled a hand atop Akari's thigh when serving wine, or why he'd rested his arm along the back of his chair while regaling them with salacious tales of office gossip.

And Akari recognized it, as sure as he'd recognized his own complicity in the matter: Hirato had planned thus; he had contrived to incite his brother's curiosity in order to prompt Tokitatsu's soliciting of answers from Akari.

 _And I let him corner me like this,_ the prosecutor chastised himself.

"So how are you?" Tokitatsu began, cadence light and cordial. "You look much better than you did the last time I saw you."

Akari started as the implications registered. "You came to the hospital?"

"Hmmm," the sandy blond confirmed, "I was awfully worried. We all were."

Not knowing how to react, Akari peered out at the nighttime sky. "Thank you for your concern," he finally said, a trace flustered by the sheepishness in his voice.

"You know, I'm rarely jealous of my little brother," the older man continued, gesturing to the sparkling city laid out before them, "but this view always incites my envy. Only in Chicago can you get shoreline and cityscape from the same vista."

"It  _is_  spectacular, isn't it? I told him it was worth his soul."

"But not his heart, right? You'd not trade  _that_  for the world, would you?" Impishness made Tokitatsu's eyes glitter behind his spectacles.

Taken aback by such bluntness, the younger man countered swiftly and savagely, acting purely on conditioned instinct. "What heart?" But even before the words left his lips, he wished he could rescind them.

Tokitatsu cleared his throat—a subtle warning. "He loves you, Akari. Always has."

Akari realeased the breath he didn't know he was holding.  _Ah, so here we are._ Honestly, he was thankful for the forthrightness. He no longer had the wherewithal to cavil. "I know."

"Then what's the problem?"

"Where to begin?" he retorted, not a hint of sarcasm imbuing his tenor. "I'm sure you've figured out what he's planning to do with the Azana case. So, obstruction of justice for a start. A general disregard for the system that I've sworn to uphold, that I _live_ to defend. Profligate philandering. Lack of conscience. To say nothing of the fact that we've committed ourselves to divergent trajectories."

Tokitatsu chortled. Akari scowled. "Firstly, he can't be that bad if you're still sleeping with him"—a stalling hand as the DA opened his mouth to protest—"Don't bother denying it; it's written all over the two of you. Secondly, you wouldn't be the first couple to occupy opposite sides of a courtroom."

"You know what I mean," the prosecutor said resignedly, "His feelings have never been at issue. Well, not primarily at issue. Everything that decimated my trust still obtains. No amount of mutual affection can mitigate that."

"Even  _you_  don't believe that."

"I—" He might have said that Hirato prioritized winning over anything, or anyone, but he'd lately received averment to the contrary. He might have claimed that running headlong into some protracted ploy at revenge was indicative of selfishness, except that it wasn't. He might have contradicted the contention that the brunet loved him, but he'd forever been a daft liar. It was hopeless. Akari massaged his temples, taking note of the nascent migraine forming there. "I don't want him to lose everything for my sake. He'll never be satisfied with the ordinary life."

"Good thing you're not ordinary, then."

"Tokitatsu…."

"Just talk to him, without your bitterness and conceit. He changed after you were hurt. You know him better than anyone—better than I do, without a doubt. So you know he's so virtuosic at duplicity that he'd deceive even a man of your incisiveness."

Akari made to reply, but he was cut short anew.

"That's all I'll say, I promise."

True to his word, Tokitatsu spent the remainder of the evening talking about his own life on the East Coast—about the recent terrorist attack during the Boston Marathon and his indecently ostentatious Harvard Law reunions. He spoke briefly of his own love interest, abruptly changing the subject when he was teased for romancing his own secretary. The older man did, however, stare brazenly as his sibling shifted next to Akari and snaked an arm about his shoulders. Hirato, for his part, welcomed the increased scrutiny. If anything, he seemed rather bemused by it. By the time Tokitatsu left, Akari found that he'd unconsciously leaned towards the brunet, crossed legs resting against his and hand atop his knee. He was unsure how he ended up positioned like so, but certainly Hirato bore the onus of blame.  _What the hell am I thinking?_

He stood and walked to the window after shaking their visitor's hand, allowing the brothers some privacy to say their goodbyes.

The DA was not startled by the subtle pressure of his lover's hands bracketing his hips, nor the soft exhale of breath ghosting across his nape. He leaned back, relishing the feeling of belonging.  _Why did you give this to someone else? Why wasn't I enough?_

"You two seem to be getting on well," Hirato whispered, inching his arms around his prey. "You always did like him better than me."

The prosecutor appraised their hazy, ghost-like reflections in the glass before him, feeling rather like his insubstantial doppelganger. Hirato had always caused him lose himself in that manner. "He made it easy to like him."

"So cruel of you." Regardless, the brunet's teeth worried a patch of skin just below Akari's ear with enough demanding to frustrate, yet not quite enough to bruise.

"And you make it easy to want you," Akari emended.

"Much better, counselor." Hirato's ensuing laugh was a gentle puff of air wafting across dampened skin. It made the DA shiver slightly.

"Tokitatsu said we ought to talk."

"About?"

 _Best to be candid. Otherwise we'll be here all night...and who knows what will happen then._ Akari ignored the pang of disappointment he felt. Another night in Hirato's bed was starting to seem a wonderful idea. "About how you've changed. How I should trust you again."

The defense attorney stilled, but he did not release his captive. "Do you think you can?"

"I don't know." It was honest—brutally so, but he'd never been the prevaricating type.

"Do you want to try?" Hirato asked, so softly that he had to strain to hear.

"I know even less of that."

"Well, that's a start. Better than 'no' at any rate."

"And you're satisfied with that?"

"No. But at least last night wasn't resultant of residual attraction or nostalgia alone.  _Some_  part of you trusted me. Perhaps not with a relationship, but obviously with yourself. You'd never have given yourself to me otherwise."

"Maybe I wanted to get laid." A light brow lifted.

Hirato hummed in feigned contemplation. "Plenty of individuals would have delighted in granting your desire—individuals with whom you do not share such a sordid history, no less."

"They weren't as convenient." Yet his fingers were curled around Hirato's arm at his waist and his back remained fitted against a broad chest.

"Now you're just being mean."

"I'm joking. Nothing happened last night that I didn't want." Having said as much, he persevered in disclosure. "Today was difficult, though." He didn't have to elucidate; Hirato understood with consummate acuity.

"What of tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow will be agony."

"I'm sorry, then, for behaving like a lover. I didn't want to pantomime detachment given what's happened between us." He rested his head against the back of Akari's, driving the blond to distraction with his distinctive scent and heady closeness.

"Don't be sorry. It was worth it." A beat. "You've ever been worth it."

"Then why not stay?" He wasn't asking for continued cohabitation, of that Akari was sure.

"Because of Azana. Because of your infidelity. Because we value vastly different things. Because we're not who we used to be, and one night's passion cannot take us back across the Rubicon. Because, Hirato, it would never work."

"You're wrong about that," Hirato said simply. It was stunning how his equanimity prevailed despite the bevy of charges laid at his feet.

"You don't appear particularly put out by my error," Akari countered, confusion causing his words to curl.

And there it was—that self-assured chuckle that had once been the bane of his existence. "Naturally not," Hirato asserted, smugness inflecting his tenor. "I've every intention of reclaiming what's mine. I merely wanted to assess the impediments in my path."

Akari's gasp caught in his throat. He'd anticipated many things—trials at seduction, persuasion, even a mild form of coercion. What he did not expect was Hirato being so frustratingly direct with respect to his designs. It was a cleverly-executed stratagem, of course, but bewildering all the same. "I shouldn't have to tell you this, but you do realize that I am not your personal property, right?"

"Of course you aren't," the brunet said in a tone conveying that he  _was_ , in point of fact, Hirato's property.

"Anyway," Akari said, forcing seriousness in his voice to suspend the momentary levity, "you shouldn't waste your efforts. They won't succeed. Not if you're planning to—"

His words were stemmed as Hirato captured his mouth in a reserved, almost reverent kiss. "You told me to claim you, Akari. Remember?" Then he crushed their lips together, agile fingers trailing up the prosecutor's chest, toying with the silk of his tie and conjuring memories of the most lascivious kind. Scorching want rushed through Akari's limbs, its intensity compounded by last night's encounter. He moaned and twisted around for better access, forgetting completely his earlier remonstrations.

Breaking away, Hirato murmured heatedly against his ear. "When is Jiki coming to collect you?"

Akari glanced at his wristwatch. "In an hour."  _Time enough._

He knew he shouldn't have been crestfallen when the defense attorney freed him without additional comment. Unfortunately, his rational faculties were no match for his prurient hunger.  _Damn him._

"Let's get you packed then," Hirato chirped, a cast of shrewd satisfaction in his eyes.

Akari stifled the urge to throttle him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liner Notes:
> 
> (1) The Drake Hotel is one of the most recognizable Chicago landmarks. It's a world-renowned luxury hotel that hosts celebrities and politicians. You likely gathered as much from the narrative.
> 
> (2) Chicago was, in the 1920s, a mafia capital. Even now, many of the restaurants frequented by the mob have hidden dining rooms or underground liquor cellars. Even at the height of Prohibition, you could still get a drink in the Windy City.


	17. Chapter 17

The Hotel Burnham was one of Chicago's best kept secrets. It was the sort of boutique inn that most visitors would hardly expect of a city whose most important denizens tended to live amongst the clouds. Converted from the offices of an old architectural firm, the venue was imbued with 1920s glamour – dark furnishings, velvet-colored walls, and brass accessories lent it an elegance that appeared anachronistic against the bustling modern metropolis sprawled out at its feet. It was a little-known jewel, a minor one, perhaps, but no less charming for that fact.

The hotel was also Akari's temporary home until the Azana case concluded. Jiki had insisted on a downtown edifice with a limited number of entrances and stories. He hadn't the manpower for the Intercontinental, apparently. Personally, the DA believed that an officer stationed on every floor was rather exorbitant, but neither of his jailers would hear his protestations – not Jiki, and certainly not Iva. It made sense, he supposed, since the trial was due to commence in two weeks. Local reporters would likely be stalking his every step once the curtain rose on what would inexorably prove a media circus. Anyone intending harm could easily slip through the throng.

 _Which means I would have had to move out of Hirato's before the proceedings anyway._ Akari unzipped his suitcase and began arranging his closet, trying in vain to tamp down the disappointment flaring in his chest. How he missed the other man already – his touch, his taste, his lackluster culinary prowess and his infuriating smirk. Even the blond's clothes retained the distinctive scent he would forever associate with Hirato's high-rise penthouse, and with the defense attorney himself, of course.

Before he realized it, he found himself inhaling that rich aroma, closing his eyes while the ghosts of his lover's fingertips trailed along the skin underneath his clothes, conjuring memories of last night's interlude.

Akari eventually gathered himself and shook his head to dispel the vision. "Damn him," he muttered, resuming the task of unpacking. The rooms he'd rented were spacious and airy, all whitewashed walls and soft, incandescent lighting perfect for reading. They also spanned a quarter of the top floor of the building. Regardless, without a veritable mansion in the sky to roam about in, the prosecutor felt uncommonly confined. He'd hoped that securing a suite would mitigate some of the sensation. In fact, he'd insisted on paying for the expense out of pocket so that he could indulge this extravagance. Clearly, he was mistaken. Remarkable, it was, how he'd been cloistered at Hirato's without the resultant claustrophobia. The irony was not lost on him: he'd felt freer under his so-called enemy's watchful gaze than he did when left to his own devices.

It was late when Akari finished emptying the suitcase that Hirato had helped him pack. True to his word, the brunet hadn't moved to seduce the DA during their last hour together. He'd been a consummate gentleman, folding his houseguest's clothes along sharp creases and tucking them away into his luggage with impressive efficiency. It was adorable, really – Hirato had never been extraordinarily domestic when they were together. If anything, he'd been a menace in that department.

 _Things change,_ Akari thought wryly. Things had changed, indeed. He'd never again expected to long for his law school paramour with intensity enough to constrict his heart, for example. He'd never have guessed that they'd share a night of exquisite pleasure without it being some mindless, inebriated fuck after a particularly hard-fought courtroom battle. And he most certainly never thought he could  _love_  Hirato again, not after everything that had transpired since they dissolved their relationship years ago.

"Damn him," he repeated to an empty room.

Akari possessed one of the most dazzling analytical minds in the Windy City; of this everyone was confident. Nevertheless, he couldn't allay his preposterous displeasure that his host hadn't followed up on their rapturous kiss after Tokitatsu's departure. He ought to be thankful for small blessings, he knew. Another romp could only exacerbate the heartache. But he'd never yearned for anything more desperately than he'd desired Hirato in that moment. And the crafty fiend knew precisely how the Assistant DA burned for him. He'd ever been able to read the tenor in Akari's every heartbeat; to hear the words that proliferated in the blond's silences.

"Damn him to hell," the prosecutor said with finality.

Having resolved that condemning a man thrice for being confoundingly alluring was sufficient remuneration, Akari opted to go to bed. It wasn't as though he'd really slept last night, after all. He showered and changed, and after gratefully sinking into the downy mattress, he glanced at the nightstand and noticed that the indicator light on his cell phone was blinking.

He'd received a text.  _[Where are you?]_

The DA rolled his eyes.  _Hirato. Naturally._ Obviously the defense lawyer was determined to barrage him with messages at all hours of the night now that he couldn't interrupt his slumber by padding across the living room. He typed out a hasty reply:  _[Jiki has given me strict instructions not to divulge that information, not even to you.]_

_[Jiki will regret that.]_

Akari grinned in spite of himself. The police inspector's insistence on secrecy was thwarting Hirato's plans to reclaim his bedmate, apparently.  _[Is that how you accomplish everything? Through threats and subterfuge?]_

 _[At least I accomplish things.]_  There was a pause before the phone chimed again.  _[In fact, I accomplish everything I essay.]_ A third chime.  _[And I do mean *everything*.]_

The blond huffed.  _[Accomplish going to bed, then. Goodnight, Hirato.]_

 _[Sweet dreams, Akari.]_ He moved to stow the phone, but then it sounded yet another text.  _[I'll endeavor make them a reality when next we meet.]_

It took all the restraint the DA possessed not to slam the handset on the nightstand.

* * *

Akari slept fitfully; Hirato's salacious text had effected the desired result – the blond spent the night tossing about, tangling himself in his sheets and thinking solely of his former paramour.

It was positively  _loathsome_ , how susceptible he was to the other man's inveigling.

As such, sometime around 4AM, the prosecutor abandoned altogether the prospect of rest and began sifting through the files he'd received from Yogi. He skimmed police reports, committing the salient particulars to memory and filling the lacunae in his own recollection of that night's events. He'd been shot in the chest; the bullet entered a few inches below the heart, puncturing a lung. Hours later, a couple of passersby had found him lying in a pool of his own blood. That they had was serendipitous happenstance.

An abrupt spasm trilled through him as he remembered how it felt to have his flesh ripped open, how each dragging inhale thereafter was agony, how the savage cold and bitter winds had only exacerbated the torture. It had been unendurable. Akari was certain that at one point, he'd even wished for death. Mercifully, he'd lost consciousness shortly afterwards.

He felt strangely disembodied as he read the impassive notes some unfortunate police officer had scrawled out. Despite the level of detail given in the report, it did not convey even an iota of the DA's anguish. The most prodigious lexicon had not words enough to describe what he went through that night.

 _These things never do_ , Akari thought.  _Every police report represents a victim, but they never represent the full horror of the crime._

He sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose.  _Pull yourself together; there's no need to play the superhero._ And then he laughed – a small titter, an instinctual reaction to Hirato's imagined teasing. How many times had the brunet called him 'Batman' over the last several weeks?

 _Maybe he's right,_ the prosecutor acceded.  _Maybe I take myself too seriously; even Batman doesn't get himself shot._

He was relieved when 7AM came; it meant that Jiki would be available to escort him on the day's rounds. One night in his new accommodations was time enough to seek the outside world.

The case files had mentioned a video recording of the incident. Apparently, a bank ATM across the street had incidentally caught the entire affair on camera. Watching the recording in question wouldn't have any substantive effect on the case, Akari recognized. After all, there was no question that Azana had pulled the trigger. Nevertheless, it wouldn't hurt to comb the evidence once more. Chicago's most perspicacious Assistant District Attorney had a knack for disinterring clues that even the most seasoned detectives missed. Sometimes a final perusal could make a case.

He settled himelf in the passenger seat of Jiki's unmarked sedan, comforted by the skyscrapers flitting past as they drove through town. Akari had grown up amongst the magnificent pine forests of northern Arizona. Their distinctive scent remained with him still, but he would never grow weary of cityscape. That said, he did miss stargazing with his mother. She'd been a frail woman all her life, but she loved lying on the grass with her son, their two pairs of opaline eyes tracing constellations in the sky.  _I'll visit her when this is over_ , he vowed.  _It's been too long._

"Where are we headed?" Jiki asked, drawing him from reverie.

"Do you happen to know anyone trustworthy in the fifth precinct's evidence department?" the DA inquired in turn. "I want to see the video recording of—my—I mean, the  _Azana_  shooting."

Honey-gold irises stole a peripheral glance at him. "Are you sure about that?"

"No, but I need to review the evidence."

The younger man merely nodded his acquiescence. That was the refreshing thing about Jiki; irrespective of what Akari suggested (within reason), he complied without patronizing or offering caution that the blond himself had already acknowledged. It was a welcome reprieve from the infantilizing affected by Hirato and Iva.

They arrived at the police precinct in short order, Jiki's nonpareil knowledge of the city's less traffic-laden streets serving them well.

"Is Karokou around?" the brunet asked after showing him to the evidence department. "Assistant DA Dezart is here and wants to review some evidence from the Azana shooting." Akari silently thanked a non-existent god that he hadn't referred to the crime as the 'Dezart shooting'; he didn't have the wherewithal to contend with  _that_  at present.

Just then, a young man entered the room, his pale, almost luminescent skin and unearthly blue eyes striking under harsh fluorescent light. His very bearing was malapropos to the institutional grey walls of the police department offices—a fae-like appearance better-suited to greenery and open sky. Akari liked him immediately.

"Mr. Dezart," Jiki said officiously. "This is Karokou; he's the lead detective on the case."

The prosecutor took the man's hand and shook it firmly. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine," Karokou said politely, an enigmatic smile playing across his lips. "I've heard so much about you."

Feeling rather unsettled by the faraway look accompanying that pronouncement, Akari cleared his throat. "I'd hoped to see the ATM camera footage from the morning of the shooting."

"Yes, of course," the detective replied, voice so soothing it was almost somnolent. "If you'll follow me, gentlemen."

Karokou led them to a small, cramped room containing a scrubbed wooden table and a television that looked as old as the district attorney himself, if not older. Gesturing elegantly to a couple of unsteady-looking chairs, he cordially excused himself to recover the video.

"He's a little weird," Jiki explained, charily taking a seat, "but he's the best damn detective in the whole division."

"Eccentricity is often attendant to talent," Akari conceded.

Karokou returned after several minutes. Upon sliding the DVD into the player, he canted his head and regarded the DA thoughtfully. "This is rather graphic," he said, tenor inflected by gravitas now. "Are you certain you want to watch it? I can summarize it instead."

"Please play the video," Akari answered tersely.  _Do your goddamn job. And let me do mine._ "I'm sure I've seen worse."

"As you wish."

Any frustration the blond felt towards his two companions and their penchant for warning him against viewing the footage dissipated completely after the events of that fateful night unfolded on the screen before him. The video was grainy and monochrome, yes, but he could nevertheless make himself out—a lanky figure washed out bright against dark grey surroundings. He trailed purposefully behind his mark by about twenty feet, hands in his coat pocket and stare leveled at the man in front of him. Ellis Avenue was largely abandoned at that hour; its poor lighting and boarded-up buildings serving as efficacious repellants for even the more adventurous of the Southside's citizens.

 _I left my briefcase at the office that night,_  he remembered. He'd made it habit ever since it had fallen into Hirato's hands a few nights earlier.

He recalled, too, squarely what he was thinking as he shadowed the other man.  _I guessed he was out executing a job for an organized crime syndicate—an exchange of information or a pick-up._ And while he rightfully conjectured that the other man would be armed, he definitely did not foresee the Deputy Mayor shooting such a high-profile target given his station and public persona.

He then continued watching unflinchingly as Azana stopped abruptly, whirled around, and felled him without so much as a blink's hesitation. The hazy version of himself crumbled to the ground, hand clutching his chest while the other searched frantically through the folds of his coat.

 _Yes,_ Akari thought,  _I was looking for my phone._

Azana stilled. And then – the prosecutor's jaw nearly dropped – he  _waited_ until his victim lost consciousness before darting off in the opposite direction.

 _He_ wanted  _to kill me. There's no obvious motive, true, but the intent is unequivocally present._ The revelation did not mollify him in the least.  _If I hadn't passed out, he would have finished the job._ Truly, it was a fortuitous expedient that he'd lost a large volume of blood very quickly. Had he reached his cell phone, the mayor's subordinate would have brazenly murdered him, with no regard for the consequences.  _I shouldn't be alive._

"Assistant DA Dezart."

Jiki's voice cut through his ruminations, clean and sharp, drawing him from his dangerous ideation back to the conversation at hand.

"Yes," Akari said, "I'm sorry. What was that?"

"Did you see that?" Jiki asked.

"See what, exactly?"

"He left you for dead," Karokou offered, euphonic tone attenuating the bluntness of the assertion. "You can  _use_  that."

"Oh, I intend to."

* * *

Akari had ordered Jiki to conduct him to his hotel directly after physical therapy. The young inspector had been sacrificing too much of his time of late, and furthermore, the blond abhorred the way the man's appraising eyes roved over him intermittently, as though expecting him to dissolve into a mass of hysterics and self-pity.

 _Why does everyone treat me like I'm breakable?_ he wondered, swirling his scotch around in his glass and taking a long drink. _It's infuriating._

Since returning to his quarters, he'd been poring over case file after case file, furiously taking notes and organizing data for Yogi. In all honesty, as far as court proceedings were concerned, the Azana cause wouldn't be a difficult win, surely not with the ATM footage in play. In fact, Hirato would have to struggle to build a workable defense (although the searingly brilliant attorney had emerged victorious with much less on previous occasions).

 _Even so, he's not even mounting an attempt this time_ , Akari thought.  _He need not throw the case to lose it; he need not sacrifice himself._

Incredibly urgent, it was, that he speak with the object of his thoughts. He glanced at his watch. It was late enough in the evening that Hirato ought to be home – that is, if he was not out canvassing for carnality now that there was no need to maintain facades.

Inhibitions diminished as a result of the scotch, he dialed his former paramour's number before he could stop himself. After the third ring, he was tempted to end the call. Just as he'd made to ring off, the brunet answered. "Do you miss me already?" Hirato inquired, relish manifest in his cadence.

"No," Akari replied curtly.

"Well they say absence makes the heart grow fonder," the brunet chirped.

"Indeed," the prosecutor agreed, "and triteness grows invariably dull over time."

"Clever."

The DA couldn't help it; he smiled at the uncharacteristic (and unbecoming) tartness in his interlocutor's tone. "Hirato, I have something to say and I want you to shut up and hear me out," he said in one breath, alcohol flooding his bloodstream and making him feel especially daring.

"I'm listening."

"I never thanked you for everything you've done, not properly anyway," he began, surprised to find that the words were far easier to articulate than anticipated.  _This is very good scotch._ "I'm an awfully disagreeable individual, as you well understand. I masque self-righteousness with principle and am no doubt sanctimonious as well—"

"You won't hear any argument from me." Akari could hear the grin in his voice; he smothered the craving to press his lips against it.

"I told you to let me finish," he huffed, wedging the phone between his shoulder and ear and crossing his arms over his chest, glass still in hand. He awaited complaint or further (superfluous) commentary. Receiving none, he continued. "You always saw the best in me; I'm truly grateful for that."

"Akari, if this is about my coming to visit you in the hospital, please know that there was a legion of adoring—"

"You're not  _listening_ ," the prosecutor whined, knowing he sounded petulant and not particularly caring.  _Why must you make everything so damned difficult?_ "I'm not thanking you for taking care of me; I'm thanking you for  _loving_  me."

On the other end of the line, the defense attorney inhaled sharply, prompting a smirk from the blond. Apparently, he'd not been expecting the DA to be so forthcoming. "Caught on, have you?" Hirato asked softly. "It only took you a month."

"Please don't misunderstand me." This Akari needed to make inescapably clear; any obfuscation would only precipitate further heartbreak. "I'm not saying that I'm seeking a relationship with you – only that I appreciate your feelings and…" he faltered.

"And?"

"I reciprocate them." He nodded in satisfaction, swaying slightly before dropping into the bed.  _There, I said it._

A gasp. "Akari—"

"Don't. Just don't. Feelings or none, there's no future for us."

Hirato chuckled softly. "If you say so," he offered in a sing-song cadence. "By the way, where are you?"

"Nice try," Akari said.

"You're not going to tell me where you are? Really? You act like I'm going to betray your location to Palnedo and company," the brunet replied, his trace annoyance magnified through the telephone.

"You'd never do that," the DA responded sincerely. "But I do think that you're trying to fuck me again." He removed the telephone from his ear and activated the speaker so that he might organize the contents of the many folders spread before him.

The defense attorney tutted. "There you're mistaken. I didn't fuck you. For the many others that I have fucked…. and there have been  _many_ —"

"I know."

"—I have never fucked  _you_ ," Hirato repeated. "I have only ever revered you."

Akari raised an incredulous brow. "Corniness notwithstanding, do you seriously expect me to believe that? What about the time you came home after fucking Bizante Junior? Did you revere me then?"

"Perhaps then most of all." Unexpectedly, Hirato's voice fell, its rich melody rendered anemic, lifeless.

"Anyway," the prosecutor said pointedly, changing the subject and regretting that he'd introduced it at all. Hirato's decisive indiscretion was wounding for the both of them – for the brunet because he'd transgressed irredeemably; for Akari because the very image of his lover with anyone else caused his heart to shatter into pieces too innumerable to count. "I called to ask you not to throw the case."

"Not this again," groaned the defense lawyer.

"Just listen," Akari pleaded. "I watched the ATM footage today," he began, only to be cut off.

"I see. That's why you're feeling so wistful."

"Actually, I'm drunk." It was uttered with all the drollness he could manage.

Hirato let out a sharp bark. "I was wondering why you're being all affectionate and adorable." A pause. "You shouldn't have watched the video."

"So they tell me."

"Are you okay?" The earnestness in those words stole the blond's breath.

Akari didn't quite know how to answer such a query.  _Well, I'm questioning my very existence just now, but I'm done confessing my feelings for a profligate philanderer, so there's the silver lining,_ or perhaps,  _I realized that I'm living on borrowed time and need to set all sorts of things right with you, but you're being a smug bastard so I'll call back later._ "I'm fine."

"I saw it too," Hirato admitted quietly. "He left you for dead." And there it was – the tranquil rage that had burned in those gorgeous heliotrope eyes whenever Akari mentioned Azana. It would have been flattering were it not so frightening. "I'll see him  _eviscerated_  for that."

"You don't need to do that," Akari stated. "That footage pretty much guarantees Yogi's win. Even if you put your  _soul_  into this case, you're going to lose. So, I'm asking—no, I'm  _begging_ you, please don't throw away your career. This will end exactly as you want without your having to jeopardize everything you've worked for."

"No. I will execute my plan."

"Hirato—"

"You just told me that you understood how I feel, that you feel similarly. Were you aiming to deceive me?" Hirato queried, subtle irritation underscoring his tenor. "Or was it bullshit?"

"Neither."

"Then ask yourself, Akari. What would you not do to avenge the one you love?"

Akari was rendered speechless. He might have argued that he would never subvert the entire justice system, but the idea of someone leaving Hirato vulnerable and dying on a perilous Southside street turned the blood to ice in his veins. He might have claimed that he'd have pursued Azana's requital through legal means, but beyond his conviction that the system must work was something more fundamental, something more constitutive to his very humanity than justice itself – the fact that he loved Hirato with all the incandescence of a thousand foxfires, and that his wrath would be swift and sweeping toward anyone who would dare harm him.  _I might have killed Azana myself._ "I wouldn't have left anything to chance. I would have done the same," he choked out, horrified by the epiphany. "I'm ashamed to admit it, but it's true."

"Ashamed?" Hirato inquired. "Why?"

"Because it means that everything that I've done, everything that I  _am_  is a farce. I've sworn to uphold the system."

"Your system is broken, counselor," Hirato said gently, doubtless aware what it cost his lover to own as much. "People like Azana have always been above the law." He sighed heavily, and when next he spoke, he sounded much older than his twenty-nine years. "You've had an unusually long day; it's late. Please take your rest."

Akari ended the call, utterly cognizant that rest would elude him that night.


	18. Chapter 18

Hirato loathed waking to an empty apartment. It was astonishing, really, how a mere few weeks with his roommate made it feel as though he'd been part of defense attorney's life all along. The brunet missed shuffling into the living room to find the other's lanky form silhouetted against the window; or how the prosecutor always organized his coffee table books should they become the slightest bit disarrayed; or the light conversation they enjoyed over a meal. He even missed scoffing at police procedural dramas alongside him. Despite the fact that Akari had been a relatively un-bothersome houseguest, having him around made the penthouse feel…. well, like  _home_.

Blinding sunlight filtered in through the windows, setting his bedroom ablaze with its refulgence. Hirato groaned in complaint but woke after slowly blinking away lingering sleep. He had an inordinately busy day to get underway and dithering would be of no service whatsoever.

_Akari's been a terrible influence on me_ , he remarked mentally, rising swiftly from bed and shuffling to the bathroom.

He arrived at the Med ten minutes ahead of schedule. He was wondering idly whether or not it was too early for a Mexicana when he spotted an unruly mop of blond hair weaving through the brunch crowd.  _Yogi._ Waving him over, he settled back against the wooden booth, casting a furtive eye about the room for any familiar faces.  _I'm beginning to feel like a spy_ , he thought drolly.  _Having to watch my back with every step._

"Hi, Hirato," the youth said cheerfully, taking the opposite seat. "You look like you finally got some rest."

"Indeed," he responded, deliberately eliding any details.  _I no longer pass the night wondering whether or not I ought to steal into the guest room and fuck Akari into oblivion._

"Gareki will arrive shortly," Yogi said. "He's just putting together the information you requested."

"Wonderful." Hirato deadpanned, vacillating about whether or not he ought to inquire after the deputy prosecutor's relationship with his sibling. "How is brother dearest?" he asked, opting for a compromise between intrusiveness and indifference.

Once again, it was mention of the inky-haired youth that precipitated Yogi's diffidence. "H-he's fine. A very skilled researcher."

"That's good to hear," he conceded. "I'm glad he's finally decided to make himself of some use."

"We couldn't do this without him. I mean, he  _hacked_ into the City Prosecutor's computer," Yogi informed, awe-filled tone full of unconcealed admiration. "He's amazing."

Hirato kept from throwing his hands up in defeat, but only just. Clearly, he and Akari's subordinate had very different ideas about what constituted success. "I take it the two of you have reached some sort of rapprochement in terms of your relationship, then?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound too eager to pry into their personal lives.

Yogi's sanguine affect deflated considerably and he averted his gaze. "We're just friends," he said sullenly. "Or rather, we are trying to be friends."

Months ago, Hirato might have mocked his brother for befriending an erstwhile conquest in hopes of assuaging his own guilty conscience. These days, however, the defense lawyer acknowledged that Gareki possessed more maturity than he was credited with.  _Besides, aren't I doing the same? Trying to befriend a former flame in hopes of rekindling the fire?_ True enough. Nevertheless, something about seeing Yogi's vibrant lavender irises cloud over in sorrow obliged him to essay allaying the heartache. "He cares about you a great deal, you know," he said gently, directly meeting the other's inquiring gaze.

"It's not enough," the blond whispered. "He can't negate what he did."

The assertion cut through Hirato clean and sharp, unsettling him and causing him to question, not for the first time, his own endeavor to reclaim his beloved's heart. He smothered the creeping despair with feigned buoyancy. "Perhaps not. But he might make an overture towards trustworthiness."

"Is that what you're doing with Akari?" Yogi asked bluntly. "Making an  _overture_?"

Deciding that he'd lose nothing by being forthcoming, Hirato acceded. "I certainly hope so. But I've a long way to go before he'll trust me again."

"Do you think he  _ever_  will?"

"I have to believe so." He smiled indulgently.

"Of course," Yogi responded. "Otherwise everything we're doing is for nothing, right?"

Hirato started, quite at a loss in terms of how to reply to that proclamation. "I used to think so. But the truth is I'd go after Azana even if I could never have Akari back. I'll not forgive such an egregious transgression lightly."

Just then, Gareki came through the front door, shaking off the snow and peering through the crowd. Midnight eyes finally alighting upon his companions, he made a beeline towards the back of the restaurant, clandestinely glancing around for acquaintances.

_At least we didn't raise a fool_ , Hirato conceded.

The younger brunet slid into the booth beside Yogi, narrow eyes narrowing further as they assessed the defense attorney. "You look like shit," he said blandly.

"Ever the charmer, aren't you?" the brunet chirped, tone imbued with mock politesse.

Gareki smirked. "I learned from the best."

Stifling the urge to throttle their latest addition, Hirato leaned forward, elbow on the table, chin in hand, and unblinking stare directed at his little brother. "What have you learned through your various  _undertakings_?"

"Lots of things," the younger began. "Most importantly, I learned that the City Prosecutor's Office, not the DA's Office—"

"—Yes, I know the difference, thank you," the elder interjected.

Gareki waved a dismissive hand, "Anyway, the City Prosecutor's Office has dropped charges against a number of individuals, all with suspected relations to organized crime."

Yogi whistled low and dropped his voice to a whisper. "Does that mean what I think it does?"

"The Mayor's Office is connected with the mob," the defense lawyer concluded, shrugging his shoulders in nonchalance. "I've known that for years."

The blond's jaw dropped, while Gareki only gave his brother a disgusted look. "You're a real piece of work, you know that?"

_You sound like Akari._ "So I've been told," Hirato said shortly.

"Do you think Azana had them dropped?" Yogi piped up, taking a grateful sip of his coffee after dumping a handful of sugar cubes into it. "He won't let you bring them up in court if he knows he's implicated. We need dropped cases that he knows nothing about."

"He probably doesn't know about them," the defense lawyer said. "Even Palnedo must know how incompetent he is. But I can find out."

"How? You can't just  _ask_ him," inquired Gareki.

"You've no subtlety, little brother," Hirato intoned. "These cases that have been dropped—I can attempt to lay the blame at Akari's feet and watch Azana for a reaction. If he's aware of them, he'll doubtless betray himself." He chuckled softly. "He has no subtlety either."

Yogi took another sip of his syrupy coffee. "This goes all the way to the top, doesn't it?" he queried softly, lilac eyes searching amethyst for an answer.

"It appears that way."

"I wonder if we'll ever elect a mayor that doesn't have organized crime connections." Gareki's flippant tone elicited a round of resigned laughter.

"Sure," Yogi replied. "When hell freezes over."

"Clearly, you've never been to the University of Chicago in the wintertime," the youth retorted, prompting more snickering all-around.

And for the first time in a long time, Hirato found himself agreeing wholeheartedly with his younger sibling: the University was a veritable frozen hell in the thick of the Chicago winter.

 


	19. Chapter 19

Hirato left the Med earlier than his companions, apprehending that he ought to give Gareki and Yogi some time alone that had nothing to do with work. He sincerely hoped that the two younger men would find some sort of rapprochement. The more desperate part of him dearly wished that his younger sibling could once again claim the deputy prosecutor's romantic affections. Irrational, it was, to predicate his own success with Akari upon that of Gareki's with Yogi, but if he considered it, jeopardizing the career that you spurned your lover to build for the sake of that selfsame lover demonstrated a rather alarming amount of circular reasoning.

_Whatever it is that I feel for him isn't subject to logic anyway_ , he mentally appended.

That said illogic might land him in prison was a possibility he pushed to the margins of his consciousness.  _I'll contend with it if it comes to that. Anyway, we can be pen pals._ A sardonic smirk curled his lips as he parked the Benz in his designated parking space. The last place he wanted to be was work, especially since Bizante appeared to be growing suspicious, but he needed to meet with Azana immediately.

Having summoned the Deputy Mayor in question, Hirato proceeded to gather notes on all the cases he'd been neglecting of late. If he was going to be fired, he wasn't going to make it easy. Bizante would know that he was terminating the most utile and talented of his young partners. As such, the defense attorney resolved to be as efficient as possible in the days leading up to what would inevitably be a legal spectacle. He'd just finished emending an intellectual property case file when his supervisor sauntered through the door.

The elder man dropped into the leather armchair before Hirato's desk without being invited to do so. Stretching his legs out, he crossed them at the ankles and studied his employee thoughtfully.

Feeling the full weight of that penetrating stare, the brunet awkwardly shifted around the files on his desk. He was suddenly full of nervous energy; Bizante always made him feel much like an insect about to be incinerated under a magnifying glass.

"How are you holding up?" he asked Hirato, voice light, polite even.

The younger shrugged in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner. "Actually, I think I'm holding up quite well given that we're about to embark on the trial of the decade in a week's time."

"What's the latest?"

"Azana is on his way here," the defense attorney said. "If you'll wait, I can brief the both of you together."

Bizante merely nodded and examined his fingernails, lips a severe line. For several minutes, neither man spoke. Hirato has assumed that his superior was prepared to await the arrival of their third member in absolute silence. As such, he recommenced working on cases, adding a note here and there, re-familiarizing himself with police reports and the like.

"Do you know why I hired you?" the senior partner asked suddenly, nearly causing his companion to jump.

Still typing furiously, Hirato absentmindedly replied, "Because I'm good."

"You're  _very_ good," Bizante conceded. "Do you know why  _else_  I hired you?"

The junior lawyer's breath caught. Doubtless his interlocutor was speaking of that fateful night on which he'd lost Akari. Even so, there was no reason the events of that evening should secure him a position with Chicago's most successful law firm. If anything, his actions ought to have assured his being blacklisted from Bizante and Associates. "I'm surprised you did," Hirato admitted, "given what happened between your son and me."

"Or what  _didn't_ happen?" the elder queried, the ghost of a smile dancing upon his lips. "Ko never told me about that night, only that I  _shouldn't_  hire you."

"So how did you find out?"

"That you didn't sleep with him?" Bizante laughed – a full, throaty chuckle that set Hirato's teeth on edge. "You don't attain my position in life without uncommon perspicacity."

_Uncommon indeed_ , thought the brunet. Not for the first time, he wondered if his supervisor had learned of his plans to avenge his erstwhile lover. Whatever the case, he would have to tread carefully; this conversation was clearly an interrogation painted with the patina of friendly banter. "We had dinner and several drinks. And then several more drinks after that. He invited me up. I declined."

"Why?"

Now Hirato laughed. "Ko is very attractive, it's true" he said, "but you presume that everyone would want to sleep with him."

"You mistake me. I'm asking why you didn't take the easy route to your dreams. Having sex with Ko would have earned you an interview, at the very least." Grey eyes leveled on indigo with all due gravity.

The young attorney nodded and ruminated over his words before answering.  _Because I'd already lost. Because the moment I agreed to meet Ko, I'd betrayed Akari. Because I_ would have _traded love for ascendancy. Because Akari was losing respect for me already, and instead of losing him, I thought it better to push him away._ "Because I wanted more than success," he replied instead. "I wanted to achieve it myself."  _I deserved to forfeit Akari_ , Hirato concluded at last.  _But I deserve to get him back, too._

A flash of something – something ephemeral and fleeting, and approximating satisfaction – passed across Bizante's face then. "That's what I thought," he said. " _That's_ why I hired you. You  _earned_  your way to the top." He cleared his throat. "I hope, my boy, that you will continue to be an asset to this firm."

Ignoring the panic that was now roiling beneath his skin, Hirato choked out, "I will certainly endeavor it."

At precisely that moment, a tremulous blond rapped on his doorframe. He waved Azana in through the glass, lamenting the fact that he would be unable to converse more with his employer. He needed to know what, if anything, Bizante had learned about his relationship and subsequent falling out with Akari.  _Nevertheless, if he suspected me, he'd have fired me on the spot,_ he mentally comforted himself.

"H-H-Hirato," the Deputy Mayor stammered. "How are you?"

The defense attorney bit the inside of his cheek in order to attenuate the overwhelming desire to circle the desk and throttle the man before him.  _You murderous bastard_. Concentrating on maintaining his façade, he smiled serenely until his breath evened and the sound of blood rushing in his ears ebbed.  _He is my_ everything _. And you left him for dead._ Thoughts of vengeance whirled in his mind alongside the particulars of the case. Plucking the relevant information from the nebulous mass that had formed, Hirato addressed his most loathsome client. "Please be seated. There have been some new developments."

"Really?" That nasal, simpering voice was already begging to be silenced in as savage a means as possible. "What's that?"

"I have come across a series of cases – cases involving the mafia – wherein the charges were dropped," Hirato intoned.

"You're kidding," exclaimed Bizante, leaning forward and paying rapt attention now.

"There was a murder on 55th and Garfield. Two shots. Execution-style. Chicago PD had enough evidence to convict the assailant, but the case never made it out of the City Prosecutor's Office." Hirato sighed for effect. "I have a whole stack of similar files."

Azana piped up then. "Do you think that the DA's Office is pressuring the Prosecutor's Office to drop the cases?"

The brunet stifled a satisfied purl.  _So, Palnedo doesn't trust you with everything, does he?_ "It matters very little what I think," he said with an elegant flourish of his hand. "The point is that we can pin these on Akari. Thereafter, you can claim that he was doggedly pursuing you because you'd found out about this corruption and were planning to make it public."

Bizante shook his head. "Do you really think a Chicago jury is going to buy that? Akari Dezart is a damn saint in this town."

He couldn't smother the grin then.  _A saint with some very devilish tendencies._ Clearing his throat, he regarded his supervisor and client with all due sincerity. "It's the only defense we've got. Besides, that's why I had Azana make a statement accusing Akari of malfeasance – to plant seeds of doubt in the public's mind."

The eldest member of their trio sighed heavily. "Then I suppose we'd better run with it." He offered his subordinate an encouraging smile. "You've made victories of far less, Hirato."

"Indeed."  _And I've avenged lesser transgressions as well._

* * *

A spent defense attorney arrived home close to midnight. Looking rather forward to falling into the downy comfort of his bed, he sighed in relief as the key turned in the lock. The reprieve was short lived; he opened the door to find his living room fully illuminated, fireplace roaring and television blaring some tawdry reality show. Reclining on  _his_  couch, lithe legs crossed atop  _his_ table, and fingers clutching  _his_  finest bottle of scotch was none other than Tsukitachi.

"Cheers," the redhead called, raising a glass to his unwilling host.

Hirato huffed in feigned impatience. "I'd ask to what I owe the pleasure, but having you here at this hour is anything but."

Tsukitachi frowned. "Don't be like that," he moped. "Look, I even poured you a drink."

Taking the proffered beverage in hand, the brunet joined his houseguest on the couch, his own feet accompanying those atop the coffee table. "I'm tired," he said, hoping the other man would take the unsubtle hint.

"I expect you are," Tsukitachi replied, shrewdness imbuing his tenor. "Planning an elaborate revenge, flying under Bizante's radar, amassing evidence against your own client – all while trying to fuck your ex, no less." He whistled in mock amazement. "I'm impressed."

"What, precisely, is your point?" Hirato queried, taking a long sip. He let the smoky richness pool in his mouth before swallowing it, appreciating the subtle burn as it slipped down his throat.

"Are you sure that Bizante doen't suspect you?"

"I think he intuits that I'm up to  _something_ ," the defense lawyer admitted, "but if he were certain of anything, he'd have terminated me directly."

"Be careful." There was a sharpness in that cadence that was antithetical to its wont.

"I will."

"Even if you are, you know that this won't end well, right?" Tsukitachi asked. "It can't."

"I know."

For a long while, the two sat in complete silence, intermittently partaking of their drinks and refilling their glasses. After his third serving, the warm headiness of the alcohol jarred loose the enquiry that Hirato had forgotten to make. "Why are you here?" he asked. "You could have just asked me to lunch so we could talk privately."

"I miss you," Tsukitachi answered, sloppily throwing his arms over his compatriot and tugging him close. "You're my best friend!"

"Get— _off_ —me!" Hirato exclaimed, wriggling out of his grasp. "I just had this suit pressed."

Cackling wildly and doubtless inebriated, the junior partner released his prey and once again sank into the sofa, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. "Was it worth it?" he finally wondered aloud. "That is, will it  _be_ worth it?"

"Yes," the brunet said without hesitation. "Akari has always been worth infinitely more than I ever realized."

"Then why'd you do it?" Tsukitachi queried seriously, cracking an eye open and gazing at his interlocutor. "Why'd you cheat on him?" Seeing the questioning look in violet irises, he swiftly added, "Iva told me what happened."

"Iva doesn't know the half of it," Hirato responded. "And neither does Akari." He vacillated about whether or not he ought to admit the truth to his closest friend. Certainly, Tsukitachi would keep his secrets if ordered to do so. Even so, part of his self-imposed penance for prioritizing success over his partner had been to wear the mark of an adulterer for the rest of his life. "I didn't cheat on him," he said with a sigh. "I only told him I did."

"What?" At that pronouncement, the redhead shot up, back taut and mouth hanging slightly open in astonishment.

"I never slept with Ko," he echoed.

"Then why tell Akari you did?"

"Because I  _wanted_ to. I wanted to fuck Bizante Junior desperately, to secure my future. I wanted to do everything in my power to get to the top, and I was prepared to fritter away the only person who ever loved me to do so." He paused, thinking carefully about how to explain the now-incomprehensible motivations of his immature self. "The thing is, I always thought that Akari would be the one to leave when he eventually saw how vacuous and superficial I truly was."

"So you left him first?"

"No," Hirato corrected. "I created a situation wherein he would have to choose between his integrity and me. Had he been willing to debase himself and remain, we'd still likely be together." Just like that, an inexplicable sorrow washed over him. _Would we be together? Or would he have left at some other juncture?_ "Or maybe not. Maybe it would have merely taken him longer to come to his senses and cut his losses."

Tsukitachi let out a sharp, sarcastic bark. "Or  _maybe_ you'd be working at the DA's Office," he pointed out. "People change us; we can't always predict how. Anyway, it's not like you're completely irredeemable."

Intoxicated himself, Hirato laughed heartily at that, doubling over and nearly losing his glasses in the process. "When did you get so wise?" he asked teasingly.

"I've always been a latent genius," Tsukitachi said. "It takes a special sort of nuance to perceive my brilliance."

Standing up, the senior partner dusted himself off, brushing imaginary lint from his crisp woolen suit. "Come on," he said to his coworker. "Let's go out."

"What about being tired?" the redhead asked, thin brow arched high.

"I'm too drunk to be tired anymore," he quipped, already calling the concierge for a taxi. "Anyway, we haven't been out since—" he stopped himself short.

"—since you won the Azana case," Tsukitachi supplied.

Hirato swallowed the bile that rose in his throat.  _If I'd just lost that night, if I'd not taken advantage of Chicago PD's mistake and given Akari the win, then he'd never have been shot._

"I know what you're thinking, you self-flagellating sack of shit," the golden-eyed man slurred. "But remember that you two would have never gotten back together if you hadn't won that night." He stood and swayed, emptying his scotch in one go and pouring another before their cab arrived. "Ak-Ak- _Aki_ ," he nodded his approval at the new appellation, "would still hate you. And you'd still hate him."

"He'd hate you calling him Aki," Hirato said drolly. "What the hell kind of nickname is that?"

"It's cute!"

"It's insulting, actually. Anyway, we're not back together," he reminded his compatriot.

"Not yet," Tsukitachi said flatly, ambling towards the door.

* * *

Akari's eyes shot open as the cell phone vibrated in his pants pocket. Clearly, he'd fallen asleep while reviewing notes for the Azana case. Papers shifted and spilled to the floor as he reached into his trousers and pulled out the offending object.

It glowed bright in the darkened room, hurting the prosecutor's eyes. He nearly groaned when he saw the alert banner at the top of the screen. [Text message from 'Hirato'.]  _Guess you're intent on torturing me_ , the DA thought wryly as he unlocked the phone and pulled up the text in question.

_[I miss you.]_

_[Preposterous. I've only been gone for a few weeks.]_  Akari sighed wearily. Either his former lover was drunk or getting there quickly.

Another trill.  _[I had opportunity to take another to bed tonight.]_

The prosecutor rolled his eyes and shook his head. He knew he shouldn't answer, shouldn't encourage Hirato like this, but he couldn't help himself.  _[You're not doing yourself any favors.]_

_[I couldn't touch him. It would defile our bed.]_

Breath caught in his throat, he tried in vain to ignore how the other man's confession caused a slight pull in his chest.  _[It's not our bed; it's your bed. Get in it and go to sleep.]_

_[It's our bed, Akari. I know you still remember the feel of these sheets against your skin. I certainly recall your warmth with striking clarity.]_

_I do too. And it will take me a lifetime to forget._ That was the problem with Hirato. He hated to lose and had no qualms about utilizing all available weapons to acquire what he wanted. Right now, what he wanted was Akari. Even so, far too much had transpired between them. The prosecutor typed out a hasty reply and turned off his phone., knowing that his sleep had been irreparably disturbed.  _[Goodnight, Hirato. I'll see you in court.]_


	20. Chapter 20

"Here you go," said the barista perkily, offering up Akari's drink with a beaming smile. "One double macchiato."

"Thank you," the Assistant DA replied, gratefully receiving it and sampling his first caffeinated beverage of the day.  _Hmmm,_ he thought,  _it's not a Mexicana from the Med, but it will do._ It was his wont to drop by the famous Southside café on his way to work. Given that his current abode was downtown, however, Akari found that  _any_  coffee other than that provided by his hotel was welcome.  _It's criminal, really, given what they charge per night_ , he kvetched internally.

He missed his apartment; nearly two months had elapsed since he'd slept in his own bed. He missed his neighborhood as well. Hell, he even missed the fact that he had to be extraordinarily vigilant when walking home from the bus stop most nights. Southside Chicago had lately become, surprisingly, part of him – as much a home as Arizona had been. He esteemed it in unexpected ways.

That said, mostly he adored how each street corner or seedy alleyway was haunted by the specters of the young men that he and Hirato used to be. He recognized that most people would yearn to escape such reminiscences, but he'd always prided himself on being decidedly distinct.  _Anyway, we had some great times. I'd never want to forget those._ Nevertheless, his reverie of the night that his beloved came home with guilt in his eyes and another's taste on his lips seemed terribly superfluous.  _That_ , he though drolly _, I could certainly stand to forget that._

The din of the coffee shop snapped him back to the present, and he surmised that he'd need several espresso drinks to survive the day.  _This can't be good for my heart health._ The Azana trial started in less than seventy-two hours; he and Yogi would doubtless be working continuously in order to prepare for the ensuing imbroglio.  _And what a circus it will be…_

Moving swiftly to the condiment station, the blond poured an unholy amount of sugar into his cup, mind still awhirl with random and ill-formed thoughts while his lips curled at the syrupy liquid that resulted. He hated cloyingness, but he required a surfeit of energy this morning, and a combination of caffeine and sugar would manage the trick quite efficaciously.

"Goodness, I hope you don't have a family history of diabetes," said the stranger next to him.

Akari prepared to respond with scathing commentary on the disrespectfulness of undue familiarity and general impertinence. He looked up, fire in his glare and exasperation contorting his fine features. And then his jaw nearly dropped. The man was stunning – black hair, grey eyes, and long limbs wrapped in an elegant charcoal suit under a crisp lab coat.

Nevertheless, the prosecutor was none too pleased with the situation. In fact, he found himself rather flustered by it.  _It's too early to be accosted by this Adonis_ , he thought.  _I haven't my wits about me._ "I-I don't," he stammered. "But how kind of you to demonstrate such concern." Wondering if the other man perceived the sarcasm in his tenor, he held out his hand in a perfunctory manner. Part and parcel of being a public servant entailed being marginally polite… or so Ryoushi constantly reminded him.

"Good." The brunet firmly shook hands. "I'm Dr. Kirei Karasuna. It's nice to meet you."

"I'm Ak—"

"Akari Dezart," Kirei finished. "The whole city knows who you are." He laughed. It was smoky, sensuous laugh intimating that many secrets belied it.

"How disappointing." He couldn't help it; the vexation finally seeped into his tone.  _I'll never escape the Azana case, it seems._ Concomitantly, he suddenly felt that he would never escape  _everything_  that the case entailed – most especially his one-night liaison with Hirato. And oh how he wanted to forget the way the defense attorney's fingers had scorched their seal so deeply into him that he sometimes woke to their ghostly brush.

Cloud-colored irises studied him carefully, doubtless intuiting that something had gone awry. Kirei frowned slightly. "My apologies," the doctor stated. "I heard on the news that the trial of the year will commence on Thursday; I do not mean to keep you from your work."

"Not at all," Akari waved a dismissive hand. Regardless, he prepared to take his leave. Too much of his morning was spent on idle fancy and useless memories. Adding to the unproductivity by staying to flirt would only amplify his professional anxieties.

"That said," Kirei began, an air of mischief in his tone. "I would be in dereliction of my Hippocratic Oath if I did not say that you looked utterly stressed, Assistant DA Dezart."

"Yes, well…" and then he stopped talking, not quite knowing how to answer.

"Don't worry. I've a prescription for what ails you."

Akari raised an inquisitive brow. "Oh?"

"Have lunch with me. We can go somewhere near your office if you like."

"I'm afraid I haven't the time." And he meant that. He really did. Under different circumstances, he might have been enticed to accept… particularly since he was intent on forgetting Hirato. Permanently.

The physician merely shook his head, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You'll need a better excuse to shoot me down. I'm only asking for thirty minutes of your time. You've spent longer in the company of felons. Surely you can tolerate my presence for such a short while." He shrugged. "Anyway, even workaholic DAs have to eat, you know."

"Workaholic?" the blond queried in affront.

"I recognize the symptoms," Kirei replied, "as I, too, suffer from them."

Cognizant that he ought not to add to the stresses already monopolizing his schedule by exploring a new relationship, Akari relented. "Thirty minutes," he repeated in as officious a tone as he could manage. "I can't spare more."

"I know," the brunet acceded. "As it stands, a half hour is exceedingly generous of you. I'll endeavor to make it worth your while. We can even talk about the trial if you want; that way, you can think of it as a working lunch instead of a date."

Akari laughed. "That would go against your prescription for stress relief, wouldn't it?"

"Ah, it seems I've been found out," the elder man answered sheepishly. "I simply wanted to take you out for lunch. If I may provide succor by doing so, then that is an added bonus."

The prosecutor produced a business card and wrote his private number on its reverse. "Call me," he said. "Around noon. We can plan from there."

Plucking the tiny rectangle of card stock from Akari's long fingers, the doctor smiled warmly and winked. "I look forward to it."

* * *

 _Staring at the phone won't make him call me sooner_ , Akari thought, trying in vain to ignore the disappointment flaring in his chest. He'd only met the man, but he rather  _liked_  Kirei – charming, successful, beautiful, and most importantly,  _not_ a profligate inamorato with whom he shared a long and sordid history. Ruby eyes glanced at the wall clock.  _12:34._ Giving up on the newcomer already, the prosecutor marshaled his focus and began editing Yogi's opening statement. To meet Hirato in a courtroom meant that the youth would need to be just as charismatic, if not more, than the mesmerizing brunet.

He'd just added the final rhetorical flourishes when the shrill sound of the telephone startled him, causing his pen to slip carelessly across the page. "Damn," he muttered, taking another look at the time.  _1:47. This is beyond inexcusable, doctor._

"Hello?" He picked up, not bothering to introduce himself or conceal the acerbity in his tone. This was his private line, after all. Furthermore, he knew that it was Kirei. The only other person who would dare to call this number in the middle of trial preparation was Ryoushi, and he was currently putting Yogi through what he ominously termed "courtroom bootcamp."

"Akari?"

"Kirei."

The physician sighed heavily. "I can't imagine what you must think of me," he said.

"Currently, I expect that you haven't much respect for others' time. Either that, or you're in desperate need of a new wristwatch."

Another sigh. "I'm very sorry. Cook County was inundated with emergency patients this afternoon. There was an L derailment. As a result, ER staff was shorthanded." A pause. "Haven't you seen the news?"

The DA relented, feeling immediately guilty. Immersed in his own work, he'd not turned on the television since stepping out of the shower this morning. He offered an apologetic sigh. "I'm the one who ought to apologize. I drew conclusions based on insufficient evidence."

"A professional liability, I imagine, counselor."

Akari smiled. "Indeed." He needed a break, he realized, and some company, and on a fundamental level, he needed food. "Why don't I compensate by taking  _you_ out for" – he checked his watch – "an awfully late lunch?"

"Or a terribly early dinner?" Kirei ventured. "I'd love that."

 


	21. Chapter 21

Arriving over half an hour early, Akari took his seat directly behind the prosecutor's bench. It was a strange sensation – that of being present in a courtroom but not arguing the case. Instead, he was relegated to the sidelines for the better part of the proceedings, emerging only as a witness. He swallowed thickly as he imagined being cross-examined by Hirato. He suspected the defense attorney wouldn't deign to be gentle with him simply because they'd shared one night. If anything, he would perform every inch the harsh inquisitor in order to further solidify his pantomime.  _He wouldn't want anyone to guess his true intentions, after all_ , Akari thought.  _He wouldn't want to give up the game before its due._

The prosecutor took a long sip from his coffee cup and glanced about the chamber. His ex-lover had yet to arrive.  _No surprise there; he lives to make an entrance._ Azana, however, was seated behind the defense's perch. Opaline eyes roved over the man, taking in his jerking leg and palpable nervous energy. Despite all that Akari had suffered on account of the deputy mayor's actions, he couldn't help the tiny flare of pity that surfaced as he considered how all the forces at play were conspiring against the man. The tremulous public servant would not receive a fair hearing; that had been long assured by agents outside his control. He cast about the courtroom again, this time his lips contorting in abject displeasure.  _This is a travesty. There's no justice here._

That said, he was determined that the District Attorney's Office perform its duty to the letter. Hirato may choose to take the law into his own hands, but Akari certainly would not allow Yogi to do the same. Reassuring himself with an imperceptible nod, he trained his gaze upon his protégé. A delicate tremble thrummed through the youth's frame. He leaned forward and placed a hand on Yogi's shoulder. "You're going to do fine," he said. "Just breathe. We've gone through your opening statement over a dozen times. You could give it in your sleep."

"R-r-right," Yogi stammered. "I'll just do it like we practiced." And then he blanched as the doors swung open behind them. Craning his head to see who'd entered, those lavender irises went wide with apprehension. "T-they're here," he breathed. " _All_  of them."

Akari avoided rolling his eyes, but only just. He could not, however, keep the derision out of his tone as he addressed his most promising employee. "This isn't some poorly-made horror film and  _they_ are not a mob of poltergeists. It's your opposition. Get a grip!"

Nevertheless, even the experienced Assistant District Attorney had to admit that having the whole senior management of Bizante and Associates at the courthouse was, in a word,  _vexatious_. Hirato led the cadre of lawyers, briefcase in one hand and legal pad in the other. Opting for a slim-cut, three-piece heather grey suit this morning, the defense attorney looked absolutely ravishing. Akari huffed. They'd learned in their first year of law school that softer neutrals evoked feelings of trust and calm in an audience – a necessary uniform if one tended to give the impression of disingenuousness. Outside the courtroom, Hirato much preferred dark colors and bold silhouettes, but inside he wielded every weapon at his disposal. People were loath to trust the devastatingly handsome, after all.

"He's so damn full of himself," Gareki said tartly as his brother took up his post on the opposite side of the room. "You'd think he was Matlock or something."

Realizing that the siblings shared the same withering glare, Akari indulged in a soft laugh. "Matlock never looked like  _that_."

"Matlock didn't need to."

"There's no need to be envious, Gareki. You inherited the same good genes."

As the younger brunet tossed a revolted scowl at Akari, Hirato took his seat, ostensibly insouciant about his surroundings. Flipping through his notes, he crossed one lithe leg over the other in supreme confidence. Colleagues filtered in behind the prosecutor's bench – Bizante, Ishiyura, Makunobe, Iva, Tsukitachi, and – Akari inhaled sharply – Ko, the man to whom he'd lost his lover all those years ago. Briefly returning Iva's surreptitious smile, the blond resumed staring ahead, disregarding the aching pull in his chest.  _How juvenile to harbor such bitterness towards a man I don't know. It's not_ his  _fault Hirato strayed._ He closed his eyes and attempted to corral the tempest of emotions churning beneath his façade.  _Anyway, I'm moving on. I'm seeing Kirei. It's over. Totally over._

Granted, two dates could hardly qualify as 'seeing,' but Akari figured  _any_  date that did not involve former-flames-cum-professional-enemies was a noteworthy shift in pattern.

His scatterbrained thoughts were interrupted by Ryoushi, who was glaring at Yogi with all the venom that the Assistant DA himself regularly projected. "You are prosecuting the man who nearly murdered your supervisor," the elderly man scolded. "Act like a professional."

Yogi remained silent, huge, watery irises affixed to the floor in trepidation or resolve – Akari couldn't discern which. With another bolstering pat on the young lawyer's shoulder, he settled back in his seat and inhaled deeply. Courtrooms all smelled the same, he fancied. Ever since he'd entered his first on a middle school field trip, he'd been oddly allayed by the still, almost stale air that pervaded them. Much like opening an old, dusty legal volume, he drew peace from the familiar. Rising to his feet with all the others in attendance, he watched the judge approach the bench, robes billowing and a grave cast to his features.

 _He's not looking forward to this, either,_ the DA mused.

Judge Ikami made short work of the preliminaries, and as the trial finally commenced, the prosecutor felt an immense release of tension in his shoulders – like his strings had been cut. He'd been anticipating this event for months and knowing that it would conclude in a few weeks, for better or worse, soothed him.  _Soon, I'll be free of all this one way or the other. Maybe I'll move out of the city afterwards, get a fresh start. Milwaukee is supposed to be nice – a lot like Chicago. Or perhaps I could take up residence on the West Coast. Seattle is said to be a single's Eden. And of course San Francisco is gayer than the most closeted conservative Republican congressman. I think I'd like that._

Yogi finally began his opening statement, obliging him to abandon his fanciful ideation.

"L-l-ladies and gentlemen of the jury," the blond stumbled. Akari suppressed a groan. "I-I-I want to t-tell you a story."

Beside him, Ryoushi let out a singular grunt of disapproval.

Awkwardly clearing his throat, Yogi ventured an insecure titter and leveled his most disarming grin at his listeners. The effect was staggering – many members of the jury returned heartening smiles. Others' expressions softened considerably. And that's when Akari realized that his duplicitous subordinate had been playing them all the while. He could have beamed in joy as he saw the younger attorney square himself with a subtle shift of the shoulders. It further helped that Yogi looked much younger than he was; to his unwitting observers he seemed an innocent ingénue about to be annihilated by a seasoned expert. As such, they were rather taken with him and, for all intents and purposes, seemingly prepared to be accomplices to his success.

Pretending to be emboldened by the positive reinforcement, Yogi feigned another nervous giggle. "I'm afraid I'm no orator," he said with a congenial shrug. "I'm not a hot shot University of Chicago Law School alumnus." Here he shot a contemptuous glower at Hirato, whose impassivity masked perfectly his amusement. "I studied for weeks in preparation for the Illinois Bar Exam and barely scraped a pass." A meaningful pause wherein a few jurors laughed amicably. "That's just as well," he continued, gesturing to them with a flick of his wrist. "Because I don't need to be some sort of legal genius – a John Marshall, if you will – to know right from wrong."

Akari's lips stretched into a broad, proud smile. Manipulative though it was, Yogi's little charade had effortlessly given him the upper hand – before the defense had uttered a single word, no less. He leaned towards Ryoushi. "This isn't the statement we agreed upon. Did you advise him to play the lovable incompetent?"

"I'd have crucified him had I known."

"You have to admit, it's a brilliant counterweight to Hirato's slick big city lawyer routine."

The senior prosecutor simply sniffed and crossed his arms over his chest. Akari's eyes brightened in mirth; Ryoushi may have mentored one of the most imposturous, scheming attorneys to ever gain membership to the Illinois Bar, but he hated such "parlor tricks," as he disparagingly termed them. Legal work should be about proficiency, he'd repeatedly said, not vaudeville.

Nectarine eyes traveled once again to Yogi. "The opposition is going to fabricate all sorts of justifications," he was announcing with none of his former timorousness. "The defendant was fearful for his safety; he believed his life was in danger. It was self-defense!" Here the young man threw his hands up in a characterization of a person distressed. "The defense is going to drag Akari Dezart through the mud, accusing him with all sorts of corruptions and privations. Hirato wants to make you  _hate_ Assistant DA Dezart. But you know what, ladies and gentlemen of the jury? I'm not worried about any of that. I'm not. Because you all are smart enough to know that folks only appeal to emotion when they have no recourse to  _truth_!"

Beside Akari, Gareki's cobalt orbs went round and glassy. A faint blush dusted his cheeks and his mouth was open in unmistakable awe (and likely lust, the blond appended mentally). "Holy shit, he's good."

The Assistant DA merely hummed in appreciation.

"Here's the truth," Yogi said, slamming his hands on the edge of the jury box. "The truth is that shooting an unarmed man,  _waiting_  for him to stop breathing, and then getting as far away from the scene of the crime as you possibly can is  _not_ self-defense. That's murder. In cold blood. And no matter what the opposition says to try to get you to feel sorry for the defendant, that is the  _truth_  and I'm going to prove it to you. I won't need any rhetorical eloquence or sleight-of-hand to do it, either. Because that's the beauty of truth. It's simple. Elegant, even. And it always wins out in the end. You'll see." He nodded politely, signaling the close of his remarks. "That's all I have to say, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for your patience."

Akari could have keeled over in giddy delight, if Chicago's best prosecutor ever keeled, that is. Instead he pressed his lips into a tight line so as not to give away his junior's stratagem. Despite the need for discretion, he chanced an encouraging wink in Yogi's direction as he returned to his seat.

"Fuck," Gareki muttered. "That was really,  _really_  good. He could teach me some things."

Glancing sidelong at the more crass of his employees, the elder man bit back a smirk. "Yes," he said knowingly. "I imagine he could."

* * *

Hirato stifled a triumphant leer as he watched Yogi play the jury like a siren ensnaring heedless mariners. It was remarkable, really, how uncannily reminiscent of Akari his actions were – looking directly into their eyes, gesticulating with his hands, speaking forcefully and evenly, articulating every syllable. Hell, he even managed to embody some of the Assistant DA's trademark superciliousness. It was  _adorable_ , Hirato concluded.  _It's almost like contending with Akari again._

If he were worried about winning, the veteran defense attorney might have been alarmed by his opponent's emergent craftiness, but given that he never intended to succeed, it was best that Yogi appear astoundingly skilled rather than he himself appear un-invested.

Biting back a yawn, the brunet silently observed the prosecution's side of the courtroom. Ryoushi looked magisterial as always, navy blue suit complementing his dignified aura. Gareki looked…  _less_  so, gawking embarrassingly at Yogi. Then there was Akari, posture ramrod as he watched his subordinate. The frantic speed which his foot spasmed suggested that he was especially frazzled at present. Hirato's eyes flashed.  _I would be happy to offer some stress relief, counselor. All you need do is request it of me. I'll make it so you won't be able to walk, let alone twitch…_

He spent the remainder of Yogi's address doodling on the corner of his legal pad in an abstracted haze, decidedly salacious thoughts of his former paramour coursing through his psyche and making him feel uncomfortably warm. He recalled how riveting the other man was when he came, his hooded cherry eyes and swollen, kiss-stung lips.  _I should have filmed us_ , Hirato concluded with regret.  _It'd be nothing short of a revelation to make love to him while watching us make love._

Yogi's hand slamming atop the jury box jarred the defense attorney out of his reverie. He frowned. Hirato much favored fantasizing about Akari to performing his role in this pointless sham that the city of Chicago called a trial. Still, he curled his fingers under his chin and adopted a thoughtful comportment. He didn't  _need_ to pay attention, of course; he'd been privy to his opponent's comments for quite some time now. But he certainly needed to  _appear_ focused, if for his colleagues' benefits than no other. Certainly the devastating blond at the other end of the chamber was not condescending to look his way.

Hirato waited patiently for Yogi to finish, being careful to mold his face into a mask of affront or indignation at the appropriate intervals. The young prosecutor was quite the courtroom virtuoso; Akari had trained him well. Yet, it was Hirato whose showmanship and charisma made him the main attraction at many a legal proceeding. In fact, there was one memorable instance when the Chicago Tribune did a piece on  _him_ rather than the morally-bankrupt billionaire he was defending. It was a public relations boon for Bizante and Associates and overnight, he'd become the most sought-after attorney in the metro area.

Akari's protégé was good, yes, but he'd need a few more years before he was competition.

After Yogi resumed his seat, Hirato stood and mimed brushing lint off his crisp suit. He strode to the jury box and offered his most resplendent smile. "Good morning," he purred, smooth baritone betraying not one iota of concern over the accusations that had just been levied against him. He turned back toward the prosecution. "Enchanting, isn't he?" A patronizing laugh. "Although I imagine he wouldn't want you to think so. In fact, he wants you to think that he's completely guileless so you'll believe everything he says." Here he paused for effect. "I used to be like that, once upon a time." In his defense, it wasn't exactly a lie.

"I would  _still_ be like that if truth were in the habit of emerging magnificently like a butterfly breaking free of a cocoon." Hirato closed his eyes, pretending to be visualizing that very thing. "How nice. I envy the prosecution. Truly. Idyllic it would be to obtain in such a state of ignorance. The truth is simple, he says. How  _adorable._ "

The jury members joined him for a round of subdued laughter. "Unfortunately for my opponent, things are far more complicated than he'd care to own. Truth is elusive and  _illusive_ as well. It changes depending on perspective. After all, ladies and gentlemen, I daresay  _my_  truth is not  _yours_. Truth is interpretation. But  _facts_  – facts are what  _undergird_  interpretations. Facts make one truth more likely than another. Facts discern half-truths from half-lies and half-lies from drivel. And the  _facts_  of this case are the following: first, Akari Dezart was following – Dare I say  _stalking?_ – my client along Drexel Avenue very, very early on the morning of September 1, 2013; and second, my client shot him. On these points, even the prosecution agrees. But let me introduce to you another fact – one that has the power to redefine truth in this case: Assistant District Attorney Dezart has a long history of collusion with mafia interests, one that he has deftly hidden until this day." Here he allowed the courtroom to gasp in shock. Looking over at the man in question, Hirato was unsurprised to find those pale, pink lips contorted in patent ire. Even Ryoushi looked like he would quite like to garrote his former advisee. Said advisee merely smirked and returned his address to the jury. "I don't make these accusations lightly; I will provide irrefutable evidence to support them. Furthermore, I will demonstrate that my client knew of the corruption rampant in the District Attorney's Office and feared for his safety as a result. What transpired on the very early morning of September 1  _was_  self-defense, despite what the prosecution would have you believe with his 'aw-shucks' mannerisms and disarming bearing."

"You know, I'm often accused of hubris. Most of the time it's warranted. But in this instance, I'm pursuing the more humble aim. After all, I'm not entertaining the conceit that I could unveil something as ephemeral and elemental as truth. I can only give you the facts, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. I leave it to you to determine their implications."

* * *

"The court will recess. We will re-convene in two hours' time," Judge Ikami said stiffly after dismissing Akari from the witness stand.

The prosecutor released the breath he didn't know he was holding. He rather loathed being on the receiving end of questioning, even if it was his own subordinate doing the direct examining. Having to relive that harrowing night was enough to send anxiety creeping along his spine, causing a prickling heat to build beneath his clothes. By the time Yogi was finished asking him to reconstruct that fateful evening, Akari found that the courtroom had become downright suffocating. He dreaded how he would feel when it was Hirato who was pelting him with accusatory queries and insinuating jibes.

He strode out the doors precisely as they recessed, making a beeline for the bathroom. Once inside, he peeked around to ensure that he was unobserved before splashing cold water on his face.  _I can't wait until this is over_ , he repeated while toweling himself off with the brown paper towels that were endemic to all government facilities. Akari gazed in the mirror then, taking in his poor posture and bloodshot eyes. Unbelievably, apart from these minute tells, he did not look anywhere near as fatigued as he felt.

He'd had just pushed an unruly lock of hair back into place when the door flew open. Expecting to meet a concerned Ryoushi or Yogi even, he turned to face them. Then he flinched. Ko santered through the door, minacity in his grey eyes and swagger in his step. Even in his diminished state, Akari recognized how remarkably gorgeous the man was.  _Well, what did I expect? Hirato has exceptional taste in all things. Except cars. His car is far too ostentatious to be considered stylish._ Even without the promise of professional success, Ko had plenty of charms to incite infidelity. In fact, the DA suspected it was no chore at all for his erstwhile partner to take this alluring specimen to bed.  _Hirato enjoyed every minute of it, I'm sure; he never thought about me at all. Not until he returned home._

Resist though he might, Akari's mind's eye produced unwelcome images of Hirato caressing the man before him, chary fingertips gliding along his skin. He pictured his ex-lover undressing Ko, teasing him with playful nips and kisses – stolen affections that were supposed to belong to Akari alone. It so repugnant that bile rose in his throat. He swallowed it down, coughing roughly as a result.

"Are you feeling unwell, Assistant DA Dezart?" the other man asked, a restrained sort of malice carrying his cadence.

"Fine." The prosecutor lied, eyes watering now. "I'm fine."

"Good," Ko simpered. "It would be  _such_  a loss to the city if something were to happen to you."

"Is that a threat?"  _Fuck._ Akari hadn't meant to escalate things. He'd meant to perfunctorily thank his companion for his clearly-feigned concern and leave forthwith. But something about the man grated against him in all the wrong ways.  _No, not something_ , he silently corrected,  _the fact that Hirato chose him over me is what's so hurtful._

Ko brandished the daggers in his leer. "I did not intend it to be so… but given that our best attorney just eviscerated your precious protégé, I don't fault you for interpreting it thusly."

"The trial's just got underway," Akari replied coolly. "Don't be so sure the outcome is already decided." He was making an unprecedented effort at reining in his temper. Ko's only crime was being desirous of someone and leveraging his position to satisfy that hunger. It was his accomplice who had betrayed. The DA couldn't very well unleash his pent-up anger towards the irredeemable lout that he once loved on some hapless interlocutor. If he were to malign everyone who'd ever been attracted to Hirato, he might as well condemn half of Chicago.

"It must be difficult for you, watching the man who nearly killed you walk free. Best to come to terms with it sooner rather than later, given how outmatched the prosecution is." His cloudy irises darkened. "If I were you, I'd start making better security arrangements. Who knows what Azana will do once acquitted? He's so volatile, you know."

The blond reconsidered his previous opinion. He would most certainly subject this bastard to his repressed frustrations. He raised a finger and pointed it squarely at Ko's chest. "Listen here, you gutter-dwelling amoeba—"

"Gutter-dwelling amoeba? I haven't heard that in so long, Akari. I  _almost_  miss it." As if on cue, Hirato entered, his violets assaying the scene and no doubt arriving at a partially accurate, if misguided, inference.

"Wonderful," Akari droned. "It's a veritable protozoan infestation in here. How fortunate for me."

The defense attorney's ensuing smile was contrived, plastic.

"I was just telling Assistant DA Dezart that he ought to show more regard for his health," Ko said silkily. He leaned against Hirato to place a solicitous hand upon his chest and murmur in his ear. "He looks so overwrought and we've only begun." With that, he straightened his colleague's necktie and slinked out the door, offering an obligatory "Good luck" as he crossed the threshold.

Not wishing to be in close quarters with Hirato – at least not when he felt so vulnerable – Akari made to follow directly. He might have managed, too, had long, powerful fingers not curled around his upper arm.

"Wait," the brunet pleaded. "Please wait."

"Let go."

Instead, Hirato only pulled him closer. "It's not what it looks like."

"You owe me no explanation," he said, averting his gaze. "It hardly matters what it looks like."

"Akari—"

"It hardly matters, Hirato, because I'm seeing someone else. As I said, you owe me no explanation."

The defense lawyer appeared quite like he'd been slapped. It was the most discomfited that he had been all morning. Ordinarily, being able to make Hirato feel wrong-footed and insecure would have been met with instant celebration on Akari's end. But not today. Now now. Not after everything that had transpired between them. Immediately, the brunet's hand unfurled from his arm. Stepping back, he narrowed his eyes as though regarding his lover for the first time. The effect of these everday gestures was awfully unsettling, though. Even the temperature of the air seemed to drop considerably. "What?"

"I'm seeing someone else," the prosecutor repeated. He sighed heavily, and before he could stay his tongue, an uncontrollable stream of words spilled forth. "We've crossed the Rubicon. We could never have a healthy relationship. I mean, look at everything you're doing here; you have to admit it's rather extreme, even accounting for your proclivity towards melodrama. In light of recent events, I think it's best if we both just move on."

"I refuse."

"What?" It was Akari's turn to be thunderstruck, apparently. "You can't just  _refuse_ to see other people. That's absurd."

"What's more, I do not have a proclivity towards melodrama."

"You're being preposterous," the DA said, still caught on Hirato's refusal.

The brunet forced his prey to meet his eyes once more by lifting his chin. "Am I?" It was spoken with a brush of lips across the shell of Akari's ear. "I told you I had every intention of regaining what's mine. It will require more than fleeting interest in another man for me to abdicate my claim."

 _Damn you. Why do you make it so impossible to walk away?_  Why he was aroused by Hirato's barbaric tendency to conceive of him as property was a query Akari decided not to investigate. "Y-yes. Preposterous," he eventually faltered before squirming loose and making for the exit. "Altogether ridiculous."

* * *

Evening found Chicago's most capable defense attorney perched at a trendy Loop bar forty floors above Michigan Avenue, contemplating the holiday shoppers and tourists milling about far below. It would be Christmas soon and then New Year's Eve. He'd hoped to spend the holidays with Akari, but if the blond was involved with another, that dream might never materialize.  _When did he find time to start dating someone else anyway? Shouldn't he be dedicated to the trial? What happened to that nonpareil work ethic of his? How disgraceful to neglect work for pleasure._ But even before he chided himself for his latest lapse in logic (and rampant hypocrisy), Hirato realized that his lover's uncharacteristic behavior was precipitated by his own hand, albeit indirectly. Evidently, the blond was running from his feelings for his old flame.  _So, in a way, I chased him off. Again._

Reassessing, he shook his head, the scotch in his system causing his vision to blur around the edges.  _No, that's not right. It's not me. It's him. Since when did the most confrontational man in existence start fleeing his problems? It's irresponsible. And immature. And terribly inconvenient…_

"How unlike you, counselor," he murmured to no one at all before taking another long sip from his glass.

"What was that?" Tsukitachi mumbled, drowsiness roughening his voice. The redhead had insisted on accompanying Hirato after court had adjourned for the day. Now he sat, feebly propping up his head with his elbow and occasionally offering incoherent commentary on everything from President Obama to the White Sox. Misted golden eyes blinked lazily as he addressed his compatriot once more. "Did I miss something important?"

"No."

"Liar."

"Lush."

"You're so mean, Hirato."

"No one asked you to come," the brunet reminded his self-appointed escort. "You should have gone home with Iva if you were so tired."

"I was up late writing a deposition," Tsukitachi informed with a cheeky wink, insinuating that he was doing everything aside from legal work last night. "Still, I'd never abandon my best friend in his time of need. What do you take me for?"

"I'm not in need. And we are  _not_  best friends."  _Am I slurring my words?_ Hirato pondered.  _How many drinks have I had? Is this the fourth or the fifth?_ Summoning the bartender, he ordered two glasses of water in hopes of staving off the imminent hangover. He needed his wits about him in the morning; it wouldn't do to get spectacularly inebriated.

"Sure you are... and we are… friends, I mean. I mean, best friends. I  _know_ you, Hirato. Usually when you perform well in court, you're in a great mood. Today, though, you've been moping around like Marcia Clark after OJ was acquitted. See? You're in need."

The brunet scoffed while concomitantly cursing his coworker's perspicacity. "If I'd have been prosecuting that case, the charges would have stuck."

"So, what happened between you and Akari?" Tsukitachi asked, wholly lacking in any sense of delicacy or tact. "Anything else and you'd be restless and horny. You only act like a sad sack of shit when it's him."

Resigning himself to having this conversation whether he wanted to or not, Hirato tipped his head back and closed his eyes. "He's seeing someone else."

The redhead straightened up at that. He remained still for a long while, staring ahead as Chicago's seasonal lights imparted a warm luster to his bronze-hued irises and tanned skin. Presumably he was lost in deep rumination. Finally, he grinned and demanded his companion's attention with a poke to the ribs. "Since when did something so inconsequential deter a man like you?"

"Tsukitachi, it's not a straightforward situation."

"No. It's simple. It's not easy, perhaps, but it  _is_  simple. You've come this far. You've risked  _everything_ for him. Are you going to let someone else – someone who hasn't put in  _any_  effort – take what's yours?"

"He would hate you talking about him as though he's my personal property." Yet there was aquirk of Hirato's lips that hadn't been there mere moments prior.  _Yet somehow he doesn't mind_ me  _talking about him as though he's my personal property._

"Well, don't tell him." Tsukitachi threw a cavalier arm about Hirato's shoulders, nearly sending his glass flying out of his hand. "Aki and I are going to be best friends, so I don't want him to hate me before we officially meet. Tell him I respect his dedication to his craft. He'll love that."

"Traitor. I thought  _I_  was your best friend?"

* * *

_It wasn't supposed to happen like this. I'd planned to build a future together. Tsukitachi told me not to give up on you. He said we would survive the trial. He even insisted that the two of you would be great friends._

Hirato placed a bouquet of white roses on Akari's grave, inwardly battling the sensation of having all the air pushed out of his lungs. Suddenly, he couldn't draw breath. His throat closed up from the deluge of emotion welling up in his chest and he choked, grasping desperately at his shirt while falling to his knees. Dew seeped into his designer trousers, but he didn't much care. The full cognizance of his complicity in his beloved's death hit him like a freight train, felling him mercilessly. He shook with the effort of holding back the anguish that he knew he had no right to feel.

_I'm the reason Azana went free. If I hadn't allowed him to escape – twice – then Akari would be warm and in my arms instead of lying in the ground, cold and dead._

_It's not fair. It should be me. If there were justice in the world, it would be me instead of him._

The next thing he registered was waking in a cold sweat, a sea of dark sheets twisted about him and sticking to his heaving, naked body. Struggling madly for breath, he tried to steady his inhales as his vision acclimated to his surroundings. Stars scintillated in the velvety sky beyond the windows. Lilac moonlight poured into the room and suffused everything with an unearthly glow. The familiar began to form itself from the shapeless shadows that dissipated as his bedroom came into focus.

Hirato fell back into bed, relief washing over him like a baptism.  _I'm home. It wasn't real. It was just a nightmare,_  he told himself.

Looking over at the alarm clock, he checked the time. Ordinarily, he wouldn't dare ring the most disagreeable lawyer ever to be admitted to the Illinois Bar at such a wretched hour, but he knew that Akari would be awake, working and brooding in equal measure.

 _Whatever he and Ko conversed about rattled him. He was visibly upset this morning._  Try as he might to deceive, the prosecutor never could escape his lover's keen acuity. Having the advantage of years of acquaintance meant that Hirato could read the tenor of his every heartbeat.

The phone rung out several times before an irritated growl picked up. "What the hell do you want? It's 3AM."

The defense attorney smiled sadly.  _You_ , he thought.  _Ever at my side_. "I had a dream about you," he said instead, imbuing his cadence with pretend mischief.

"I'm hanging up now."

"Hold on," he relented. "It wasn't that kind of dream." A beat. "I wish it had been."

"What sort of dream was it?" the blond queried, tone softened just a touch. He could probably hear the sorrow filtering through his handset.

"The worst kind." He didn't need to explain; the other man would understand with consummate precision. Years of acquaintance meant that Akari could read his every heartbeat as well.

"I'm not dead," the blond said, not a trace of acerbity or ridicule present. "I'm here." He remained quiet for many moments, finally offering a hushed, "You can't persist in punishing yourself. Azana is not worth it."

"No, he's not," Hirato agreed. "But you are."

"Please st—"

Determining to have his say before his partner could ring off, Hirato interjected. "I'll stop pursuing you when you no longer love me."

Akari's breath caught. The brunet heard the small hitch and smirked; he could picture the other's sour expression with little effort. The DA was probably rubbing his temples too, and doing that thing where his nose wrinkles in annoyance. "You're being unfair, you know; you can't hold my feelings hostage like that."

" _I'm_ the one holding  _your_ feelings hostage? Aren't you seeing someone else?"

An impatient click of tongue. "We're not together; I owe you nothing." It was clear that Akari's patience, fickle as it was, was deteriorating quite rapidly. "Furthermore, I distinctly recall  _you_ seeking the company of that reprobate Ko while we were together. How dare you impugn me loyalty?"

 _Ah, and here we are._  Hirato had expected them to come upon the topic of their third party sooner rather than later. Frankly, he was flabbergasted that his former paramour hadn't simply disconnected the call after greeting him with some choice turns of phrase. Unfortunately, it stretched the limits of the miraculous to think that he could have a serious discussion with Akari about their future, not if he was going to be pathologically avoidant about it. Hirato therefore opted to maintain a light tone. "Touché, counselor." A pause. "What did he say to you this morning?"

"Nothing."

"Dishonesty is unbecoming of you, Batman."

Any second now, Akari would make a vicious promise of retribution that he would never implement. Right now, however, he settled for a spent sigh. "He intimated that Azana would be acquitted and that I ought to be cautious of my personal safety as a result." The words were delivered in one unbroken string, as though he might mitigate the unpleasantness by speaking swiftly.

A spasm of panic shot through Hirato. Knowing that the senior Bizante much preferred a dead Assistant District Attorney, he could only surmise that Ko would fall in line with Daddy Dearest.  _Was he threatening Akari, I wonder?_ Considering all angles of the situation, he arrived at the deduction that his supervisor's troglodyte progeny was far too spineless to truly execute any threats he made.  _Regardless, I'll have to watch him alongside his father._

"Hello? Are you there?" The prosecutor sounded, if anything, even more nettled than was his habit.

"I'll bury him if he dares to lay a finger on you." Hirato uttered the vow with the air of one casually commenting on pleasant weather.

"Charming. Is that supposed to make me  _want_ to stop seeing Kirei? If anything, you're demonstrating an alarming tendency towards covetousness and violence. The profilers that work for Chicago PD would probably liken you to a serial killer."

"When you say "seeing," do you mean fu—"

"I'm hanging up now." Akari's forbearance was finally expended.  _Ten minutes_ , Hirato tallied in sheer amusement.  _He's almost as curmudgeonly as he used to be. Maybe he's recovering faster than I guessed…_

"Are you sleeping with this… What's his name again?  _Kirei?_ "

Naturally, the prosecutor sputtered at being interrogated so bluntly. "W-what? Why would I tell you that? What on earth would lend you the audacity to inquire after who I take to bed?"

"I was merely wondering if you'd committed yourself fully to this usurper. I'm sure you can appreciate my unique interest in this facet of your life." He tutted in mock disappointment. "Goodness. Aren't you supposed to be some crack genius? Clearly, even genius has a ceiling."

"What part of ' _I owe you nothing'_ is proving too taxing for your primitive intellectual faculties, hmm?" Akari hissed, the fury in his voice making it waver and pitch in exquisite fashion.

"I see. To be honest, I didn't  _think_  you were. You'd consider it the height of tawdriness to share my bed and then invite another into yours only a few weeks later. I mean, that's something that only an arrant philanderer would do, right?"

Hirato chuckled as the line went dead. He was impressed that their conversation had consisted of more than a minute's exchange. Truthfully, he did not know whether or not Akari was sleeping with this new lover of his… Well, he hadn't until the DA unceremoniously ended their phone call. Given his indignation, the brunet was now assured that this new relationship hadn't progressed very far. That knowledge buoyed him substantially as his eyes drifted shut.

_Akari's still alive. He's still alive and as cantankerous and adorable as ever. And – apologies to Kirei – he's still mine._


End file.
